


In Dreams

by IAmAStonyGirl



Category: Michael Jackson (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anything else that makes an antsy romance spicy, F/M, Multi, References to Emotional Abuse, References to physical abuse, Self-Hatred, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmAStonyGirl/pseuds/IAmAStonyGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I decided to try a little something with all the Michael Jackson fans. I'm sure you'll enjoy this.</p>
<p>You are the star. Yep, you read that right - YOU</p>
<p>Michael has been your biggest inspiration for nearly all your life. You're an entertainer yourself, based in Las, Vegas, Nevada. You've been through the meat grinder time and time again to get to where you're at. Your journey hasn't been without it's trials and scars. No one can understand your pain like Michael. Form the day the two of you meet, your lives become one wild rollercoaster ride after another. Will you be the missing link to each other's emptiness? Or will the cruelties of the world tear you both to shreds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I must be completely honest: I haven’t posted any of my works online in nearly four years, so I might be a bit rusty. But I honestly love to write and I think I’m about overdue to share.
> 
>  
> 
> This idea was originally born when a writer on mjfiction.com, ShantiJ_Jackson, proposed writing a series of one-shots for the fans who wrote her a description of themselves to be inserted in the stories. It involved a romantic (or otherwise) relationship with Michael and the reader whom the one-shot starred. Needless to say, this caught my attention; I thought it was very generous and considerate of her to make such an offer, so naturally, I wanted to participate. After sending a description of what I would enjoy to see in my one-shot, I got to thinking and anticipated when I would read it. Then I decided to share my version of what it could turn out as – with one major twist.
> 
> YOU – that’s right, YOU – are the main character. The main premise of what I had originally imagined will be used, but it will be loose enough it to fit you and your life/situation as best as it can. (Of course, this is fantasy, so not everything will make perfect synchronization.) My imagination tends to run marathons, so the story will be just a little more complex than just a simple one-shot. I hope you like a good adventure in love, life, and drama!
> 
> Enjoy and please tell me what you think!
> 
> (Your name will be signified with ******)

In Dreams

Chapter One

The woman in the mirror stares back at you. Impeccable. Flawless. The epitome of perfection. You gaze stoically in envy.  
Image holds all the power. The mirage is so strong, so believable, the possibility of it all being a mere illusion never crosses the mind. You are the sole exception. You know the truth, familiar with the gimmicks. You’ve become a master at the art. Sleight of both hand and mouth are your weapons of choice – and has been for longer than you care to remember. They are no longer skills; they are your lifestyle.   
You’re unsure of how long you are stuck in your reverie, yet when a sudden rap sounds at the door, you do not stir. You know who it is, anyway. Your pathetic attempt at a smile disgusts you as your dear friend sidles through the door, two shot glasses in his hands.  
A few years ago, you would have never even given the idea of drinking before a performance a passing thought. Nowadays, both of you know it’s the only barrier between you and melting down in front of thousands of people. You would take numbness over internal agony any day of the week.   
He softly shuts the door behind him before making his way over to your chair where it sits in front of your personal vanity mirror. It’s obvious his smile is forced, but you appreciate the effort; there aren’t many people you can trust enough to hold close anymore, but Sammy is one of those who had been with you since the beginning. Sure, you have many acquaintances in your field and industry, but he is one of your true friends. You would even go so far as to say he’s the closest thing to family you have.  
Sammy is a handsome man – talented, and very dedicated to his work. The instant you two met, years ago as individual street performers, you both knew it to be an instant – as well as infinite – friendship. Deciding to team up turned out to be the best verdict either of you could have made in your lives and careers.   
From the very beginning, both of you knew you could be freely open with each other. Trust quickly became established. It became clearly evident early on that he would always look after you, and vice versa. You’ve stuck together through thick and thin, and you’ve gotten each other through numerous tribulations throughout the years. In fact, if not for Sammy (and one or two others) you would have long ago lost faith that good men exist anymore. You’ve even caught yourself pondering that, even though your relationship is nothing more than platonic, Sammy is probably the ideal man you would have married.   
The reminder that even that small inkling of possible happiness will never be yours only makes you want to down an whole case, rather than just a mere shot. Nonetheless, you smile as best as you can in thanks as your best friend sets the tiny glass in your hand.  
“Showtime’s in ten,” he says. The two of you clink glasses before throwing back the harsh whiskey. You minutely shudder as the burn envelopes your entire senses.   
You’re staring at your reflection again. Oh, how you loathe it, yet you cannot bring yourself to look away. Sammy notices. He follows your gaze for a split second, and then looks back at you, lifting your chin with a gentle finger to direct you to meet his eyes.   
“You’re thinking too much again. This is a special night tonight! You can’t be distracted.”  
You smirk a little before laughing bitterly, “It’s always a special night, Sammy. What’s so different this time?”  
“There’s a certain guest coming to the show tonight. Says he’s been wanting to see the show ever since it hit What’s On magazine.”  
“There’s always a ‘certain guest’ coming to the show,” you sigh. By now, you’ve once again turned your attention to the repulsive mirror. “How many comps did we give for his group this time?”  
“It’s just him. And he insisted on paying his way.”  
Your eyebrows arch. That’s interesting. Usually, ‘Important Guests’ only support your show if their time is compensated. (In other words: “Yeah, I’ll grace you with my priceless presence. All I need is free tickets. You’re still not as good as me, though.”)  
With one last glance in the mirror, you stand and give Sammy’s shoulder a slap with the best grin you have in your arsenal, “Well, let’s make this a show he won’t forget, then.”   
But he doesn’t move. Instead, his dark eyes penetrate you, knowing – understanding, “It’ll get better, okay?”  
Your smile drops and for the first time tonight; your fatigue – both physically and mentally – shows, “Sammy, I’m starting to lift. Down tie me back down.”   
“I’m not trying to. But you don’t have to put on an act for me. Got it?”  
You feel a bit of warmth envelope your chest. Maybe it’s the booze. Maybe not. Still, it doesn’t feel out of place when you reach over to hug your best friend and he instantly reciprocates. You hold yourselves there for a moment – or a few hours; you’re not entirely sure at this point – and you silently thank whatever greater power that might be up there for small treasures.   
As the two of you finally pull away, a light smudge of color on Sammy’s black jacket catches your attention. He instantly moves to touch up your make-up, but your mood has already sunk again. And it wasn’t even the mirror taunting you this time!   
This was going to be another long night…

He doesn’t come to Las Vegas often. In fact, he didn’t even come this time; this was just a via point to get home. He’d never been on a road trip before, and he’d always wanted to just watch the countryside pass by with his travels. He’d had enough of airplanes anyways.   
He couldn’t help but wonder just what exactly all the fuss was about the place. It was noisy, it was crowded, and quite honestly, traffic was scary. He’d almost regretted stopping to stay for the night. But he was determined to have a little fun away from everybody and just focus on himself for once.   
Options were considerably scarce, however. He wasn’t much of a gambler – never could see the appeal in it. A nightclub probably wouldn’t be a good idea; even if he reserved an area to himself, it’s inevitable he was going to get harassed, one way or another. Besides, sitting in a corner trying to keep hidden wasn’t his idea of a good time.   
Well, another attraction Vegas was known for were its shows. Comedy shows, dinner shows, Cirque du Soleil was very popular, there were performers in town for select nights – oh, he’d always loved magic shows!   
Siegfried and Roy’s beautiful work with animals fascinated him for as long as he could remember! And speaking of animals, just where did Lance Burton pull all those doves from? And who could ever forget David Copperfield walking through the Great Wall of China?  
A show was starting to sound nice to him. But which one? He was leaving again tomorrow; he only had time to see one, MAYBE two while he was here. When he’d asked for a second opinion, he’d only gotten a shrug and an ‘I dunno. All of ‘em, I guess.’ Very helpful.   
After awhile, a particular marquee caught his eye.

BELLAGIO  
Hotel and Casino  
Presents  
“IN DREAMS”  
starring  
******  
Featuring  
Las Vegas’ Newest Young Stars!  
Dare To Be Amazed  
Tues – Sat  
7 p.m. 9:30 p.m.

His interest piqued and his memory reeled. Yes, he’d heard of her. Quite an astonishing talent if he did say so himself. A fascinating individual. A little young to be starring in her own Las Vegas show, in his opinion. Still, someone that young had to be good if they were headlining.   
Why not, he figured. He’d heard some good reviews overall so far. It just might be worth a gander… 

This time, you do startle as a louder, much sharper rap hits your dressing room door. Sammy almost fouls up your make-up. He growls lowly before admitting whoever is at the door.   
“Where have you two been? Do you have any idea what time it is?”  
You move to address Alexander, your stage manager, but Sammy keeps you facing him as he covers up the last bald patch in your foundation, “We just had a little technical difficulty, that’s all,” He explains.   
“This isn’t a very good impression to be giving with a star audience member sitting out there. He came all the way just to see you and we’re keeping him waiting!”  
“We’re doing as best as we can,” you barely keep yourself from snapping. “I can’t go out there looking like Two-Face.”  
Sammy lightly slaps your arm in reproach, “Ten seconds. We’ll right be out.”  
“Get yourselves set up. I’m going to run the intro,” With that, Alexander steps out. You suddenly feel edgy again. You definitely wouldn’t mind another drink right about now.   
Sammy seems to notice your racing thoughts again. You realize he’s watching you – like a bomb squad tentatively watches on, anticipating whether it’s going to blow in the rookie’s face. You don’t even attempt smiling this time. Instead, you sigh, signaling to the door and he leads the way.   
You stop for a second. You take in your private dressing room, your own make-up desk, that damned mirror. You can’t help one last glance and you scowl. You hate that woman staring back at you, but you’re stuck with her. There is no changing that. Nothing’s free, and lately that statement has made more and more sense by the day.  
Your stare is blank and you try not to meet the dual image’s eyes. Finally, you turn and follow Sammy out.   
“Showtime.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Michael cross paths...
> 
> (Okay, folks I must say something: the only reason I have taken so long with updating is that I was hoping to get some feedback... But since I see that a few people have read, I will send the next chapter anyways. But let me just point out that even if one of you leaves a comment, that will be enough for me to update right away. I like to see if anyone like what i am doing, or if i should change it. The story is all written out already, but i would like your input.   
> Anyways, please enjoy and tell me if you like!)

Chapter Two

He knew what he liked, sure. Still, he couldn’t deny that trying out brand new flavors was certainly exciting. How were those acrobatics even possible? And was that munchkin really a woman? How did they even get all those dancers off the ground?  
He decided early on in the show that this was probably one of the best he’d seen. He must speak to the director afterwards. Oh, what inspirations he’d drained from this!  
There was one particular segment in the show he couldn’t help noticing. At first, when the star of the show had said his name, he’d instinctively sunken lower in his seat, fearing he’d been discovered. Then he realized no one was paying any attention to him. But the routine being performed down on the stage had such purpose and screamed a message that was impossible not to understand.  
It was based on him. Or at least inspired by him. He was touched, quite honestly. And he certainly approved of the way it was so elegantly choreographed. Those dancers must have trained ruthlessly for months – if not years – to be able to replicate his style so down pat. It was almost uncomfortable, the amount of flattery he derived from this.   
It was scary looking at the impersonator as well. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear he was looking at his own reflection – or a recording of himself. Now, that’s dedication!  
Overall, he felt pleased with himself – that he’d inspired someone so much to the point of creating such a beautiful piece of art. He definitely had to speak to the director now. He had to shake the hand of the masters who brought this show to life.

 

You turn at the sound of your own name. The shows are finally done for the night, and you can’t wait to retreat to your dressing room where your good friend Jack Daniels waits for you. Alexander is approaching you and you know your date with Jack is going to be postponed. You force a smile as he reaches you.  
“See? Perfect show, as always. And you were worried!” you boast, attempting to feign confidence.   
“Yes, it was a perfect show,” Alexander agrees and you can tell he’s pleased. He’s beaming almost as bright as the rhinestones all over his maroon suit jacket. “That’s why our guest wants to see you out front in the lobby. He says he just has to shake your hand.”  
Your smile freezes and you feel your heart drop to your stomach, “Right now? With all those people out there? Alex, I really don’t feel like planting myself in the middle of a cesspool. I’m tired, I want to relax, and I have to beat everyone to our jam pad before fifty people I don’t even associate with mob our whole dojo.”  
Alexander shifts on his feet as he fixes you with a calculating stare, “You just come up with that? You feeling okay?”  
You nod casually, but in the back of your mind, you pray he can’t smell the whiskey on your breath, “But, clearly, I’m delirious, so I don’t think going out to meet anyone is a good idea.” You turn to hurry on your way, but Alexander pulls you back by the arm.   
“This could be a lot of publicity points for the show. Someone this big a name coming to your original show is going to draw attention.”  
“Since when do I care about ‘big-name accolades’?”  
“Says the one who dedicated an entire routine to one of her idols.” You barely resist the very strong urge to roll your eyes. Boy, do you need a drink. Alexander drapes an arm over your shoulders and starts to steer you in the direction of the lobby. “It’s just a few minutes. Intros, handshakes, a couple of snapshots, and you’re off again. How hard is that?”  
You give a huff, “Harder than you can imagine,” you mutter under your breath.

 

“Mr. O’neal, we’re very honored to have you at our show. This is Miss ******, the writer and creator, as well as the star.”  
You inwardly grimace at Alexander’s introductions. Still, you manage to force a smile and offer your hand to the giant in front of you. You would be a little intimidated if you weren’t so buzzed at the moment, “It’s an honor, Mr. O’neal.”  
“Hey, call me Shaq. And the honor’s all mine,” he replies. His hand completely envelops yours and you briefly wonder if he could break every bone in your arm if he decided to squeeze too tight. “I’m a big fan of your show. I saw you on TV a couple of months ago. You must have really creeped out the natives over in Korea.”  
“Yeah,” you laugh a little nervously. “They said if I tried to come back they’ll arrest me and take me to a desert island to be exorcised.” Alexander and Shaq laugh loudly, but you’re desperately wishing Sammy would come along and save you already. Or at least for the carpet to swallow you whole.   
You’re unsure of how long your stage manager and Shaq idly chitchat and before too long, you start to fidget. Finally, you manage to cut in and insist that you’d love to chat all night, but you have to get going soon; your crew is throwing one of their monthly bashes and you have to go meet everybody at the rendezvous point. “Of course you are welcome to join, Mr. Shaq. Who knows who else might show up?” More importantly, who cares?   
Both men agree what a fabulous idea your suggestion is. As Alexander walks Shaq out, relaying all the details and expressing how everyone looks forward to having him, all support in your body finally gives way. You barely manage to land on the edge of a bench when your knees buckle.   
Honestly, you’re not sure how much more of this you can take. You’re living the dream of so many amateur performers your age, yet you can’t imagine feeling more miserable. Why did it feel like you’re nothing more than a pretty icon, polished and set on the highest shelf to be ogled at for the price of an admission fee? You hardly feel human, with all this imaging and commercialism. Didn’t anybody care about who YOU were? Not just your talent or what you represent?  
Your rest your forehead in your hands. Your eyes burn and you want that drink more than ever. You hear the sound of your cell phone hitting the floor, but you don’t move to pick it up; you drop it so many times a day anyways, letting it lie there for a few extra minutes isn’t going to hurt.   
After a moment or two, a gloved hand sets the phone back on your lap. You smile to yourself. About time, Sammy. Right on cue, a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders for a brief moment. A nice comfort; you start to feel a little better. You look up and give a tired smile in thanks at the kind face looking at you, so full of understanding.   
“Thanks,” you mumble. “But you should go get out of costume, now, Sammy. We gotta be at the bash in twenty minutes.”  
Dark eyebrows rise behind the mirrored sunglasses. Your speech can’t be slurring that bad yet, could it? Then there’s a wide beam and you can’t help but feel a little annoyed. Sammy didn’t really expect to show up dressed like that, did he?  
“I’m sorry,” a very soft, distinguishable voice says. “I think you have me confused with your co-star.”  
Now, you all-out scowl, “Not funny, you little brat. Go get out of costume. We gotta get going!”  
“Well, that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me a brat to my face!” he laughs.   
“Ha-ha,” you laugh sarcastically, standing up. “You think you’re so cute. But fine, you wanna make a spectacle of yourself, go right ahead. But I don’t know you, got it?” you turn, beginning to stomp of in the direction of your changing room again, but the sight coming out of the theatre stops you dead in your tracks.  
Sammy has stepped out, clad in his partying get-up and free of make-up. He makes his way toward you, but something doesn’t add up. You turn back to the figure you just walked away from. Black jacket, white armband, fedora pulled low, mirrored shades – oh, God! White socks and penny loafers! But…! Sammy is right in front of you! No costume!   
You whip around back to Sammy, who’s apparently just noticed the third person in the room. Your knees start to go weak again and you grab onto your best friend’s shoulder to keep from slumping to the floor.  
“Eh, Sammy? Don’t look now, but I think I just insulted Michael Jackson. As in, the REAL Michael Jackson!”  
“You’re quite the first-impressionist, aren’t you?”  
“Shut up! You’re not helping!”  
“Excuse me…?” you have to look away as the person who, by all rights, should NOT be standing in your lobby approaches. You feel your cheeks heat up. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Michael.”  
Ohhhh, shit. You mentally scream at yourself. So you weren’t hallucinating. But what the hell was he doing HERE?  
Sammy either doesn’t notice, or decides to ignore your inner berating altogether as he reaches out to shake Michael's hand, “It’s an honor. ****** and I are big admirers of your work.”  
“I can see that,” Michael laughs warmly. “You do my style very well. How long have you been an impersonator?”  
“Since I was about twenty-two, twenty-three years old,” Sammy replies. How the hell is he keeping so calm? He named his dog ‘Jackson’, for crying out loud! “I got to study with Shabbadoo for a brief time. Probably the best training I’d ever gotten!”  
“He’s the master – no doubt. But seriously, it felt like I was watching myself on-stage. Very impressive.”  
Okay, if this is all just another drunken hallucination, you DEFINITELY want to go for that drink. Your best friend and your biggest inspiration are standing right in front of you, in the middle of your theater lobby, making small talk! DID YOU MISS SOMETHING?  
“Oh, yeah, it’s the entire top floor. It’s basically an oversized penthouse. Alex throws these roughly every month or so,” Sammy’s voice brings you back to the present. You shake your head roughly. It’s still feeling fuzzy. “Don’t worry; no crazy fans of ANYONE are allowed passage. It’s just a bash of a bunch of local entertainers who can get together without being mobbed.”  
“That sounds safe enough,” Michael appears to contemplate. “Well, I think I can drop by for a little bit. I can’t be too long, though. I’m leaving tomorrow and I should try to get a little sleep.”  
“Understood,” Sammy acquiesces. You suddenly realize what exactly they’re talking about. Before you can stop yourself, you suddenly – and very sharply – smack your best friend upside the head. He turns to you after a loud exclamation, a scowl etched on his face. “Oh, no, you did NOT just smack me!”  
“Oh, yes, I just DID just smack you!” you snap back. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”  
“With me? What the hell’s the matter with you?”  
“Why did you invite him?”  
“Why not? HELLO! MJ just told us how much he loved the show, and our work, and wants to hang with us for a bit!”  
“At the bash? Are you nuts? He doesn’t need to see that madhouse! What do you think he’ll think of us THEN?”  
“You’re paranoid. It’s not a madhouse – unless you count you abruptly abusing your friends.”  
“Are you calling me abusive? I am NOT abusive! You just need a filter on your mouth!”  
“You mean you don’t want to jam with Michael?”  
“Stop twisting my words! Of course I do! But not there! Don’t you have any sense of modesty?”  
“What’s so bad about it? It’s your friends’ party!”  
“There’s drinking, and chaos, and obnoxiously loud music, and – and Amazing Johnathan is going to be there! That’s a warning label in and of itself!”  
“I’m pretty sure Michael’s a big boy, ******” Sammy retorts. “If he decides he doesn’t like it, he’ll know not to come back.”  
A giggle breaks you two away from each other’s throats. Both you and Sammy turn to face Michael again, whose eyes are watering. His grin is impossibly huge.  
“What’s so funny?” you demand.  
“You two,” he sniggers. “You’re like an old married couple. Who writes your scripts?” Sammy guffaws, but you feel even more flustered. Apparently, your mood is showing on your face, for Michael sobers up fairly quickly. “If you really don’t want me to come, I understand. I don’t want to intrude.”  
“NO!” Sammy bursts suddenly. He covers your mouth, keeping you from speaking up. “Don’t listen to her – she’s delirious after the show. She’ll be more sensible once we get something to drink in her.” Inwardly, you try not to grimace at the truth in those words. “She really admires you a lot; she just doesn’t know how to express it.”  
“I’m right here, you know!” you burst, breaking away from Sammy’s hold.   
“Alright,” Michael laughs again. Really, you weren’t THAT comical, were you? Ugh, how embarrassing! “If you’re sure it won’t cause any problems…”  
Again, Sammy speaks up before you get a chance, “None at all. See you at the penthouse! Just tell Alexander we sent you.”  
“Excuse me! Doesn’t anyone care what I have to say?”  
“Nope,” With that said, Sammy drags you off to the dressing room before you can get another word in.   
“Just a minute, you – ” You pull away and begin to trek back to Michael. Sammy bounds back, wraps an arm around your waist and lifts you off your feet to take you back the other direction. You don’t take being manhandled lightly. You hear Michael’s hearty laughs following you as you go. 

 

You stumble a little as Sammy drops you – perhaps a little too roughly – into your dressing room. You manage to catch yourself on the desk. You glace up at the mirror before you can stop yourself. It’s so hard not to punch right through it.   
“You say I need a filter? You need an entire restraint set, girl!”  
“We can’t let him come, Sammy! What’s he going to think when he sees that mess?”  
Sammy rolls his eyes with a huff, “It’s not a mess; just a bunch of people having fun.”  
“A bunch of people who, by the way, really don’t care that it’s my crew’s party or that we’re welcoming them into our usually exclusive space! They just come for the free food and booze and a mess they don’t have to clean up later!”  
“Wow, thanks. I’m glad Alex and I mean so much to you!”  
“You know what I mean, you jerk!” you retort, feeling your way around to drop into your chair. Wow, where is Jack? It’s close – you can feel it. Just a sip and you’d be fine. “I go to these parties because I have to make an appearance once in a while. It’s not where I want Michael Jackson of all people to show up and see what a train wreck I am.”  
Sammy’s tense posture slumps finally. He sighs, sounding tired all of the sudden, “You’re not a train wreck. You just think too much.”  
You bitterly laugh, “How can I not think about how at any minute, something in my image can crack and everyone sees who I really am, without the title, and the make-up, and the name?”  
“Wait, you mean you’re just like the rest of us?” Sammy gasps sarcastically. “You mean you’re just a normal person?! I guess we can’t be friends, then…”  
You throw your chair pillow at him, “Stop that! You’re blowing everything out of proportion!”  
“So are you,” he retorts as he chucks the pillow back at you. It hits you in the face and you let it drop to the floor. “Haven’t you ever stopped to consider that, hey, maybe not the whole world is out to get you?”  
You suddenly double over the arm of your chair, your laughs becoming hysterical, “Puh-lease! Sammy, you know better than anyone the lengths people will go through just to desecrate me!”  
“And I’m not denying that! But shouldn’t you let your guard down JUST ONCE and relax for a change?”  
You pull up and stare blankly at him. A few moments pass – it could have been an hour or two for all you know – and Sammy finally breaks the standoff with a sigh. He knows there’s no consoling you now.  
Before you know it, there’s another shot glass in your hand. Sammy is leaning back on the desk, facing you. He hides the evil duplicate image of you from view with his body. You silently send thanks to him. He doesn’t stop to clink a toast with you this time. It doesn’t bother you, you realize while throwing back your own glass.   
“I’m not gonna stick around long,” you insist, getting back on the subject of the party. “Just enough to show my face a little and do something to remind everyone I was there.”  
“Try not embarrass us too much, okay?” he smirks a little, a twinkle in his eye. “I mean, Michael’s pretty forgiving, but I don’t think Amazing Johnathan would consider it a compliment to be called a brat.”   
You pick up the pillow to throw at him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got kudos! Yay! I know that someone likes this story, so now I can update! Enjoy Chapter Three!

_Chapter Three_

 

Wow, she sure wasn’t kidding when she was talking about chaos and ‘obnoxiously loud music.’ Michael swore he could feel the walls vibrating. At least it was a spacious place.

He made a reminder to himself not to stay too long. Maybe find a couple of people he might recognize, start up a conversation, socialize just a bit before continuing on. Maybe here he could have a small drink without having to worry about sniping photographs and such.

He met Alexander at the door. A very likable guy. Cheery, polite, extremely flamboyant. Boy, did he like that jacket! Michael almost got his checkbook ready to dish out whatever price he needed to for that exquisite piece! It was obviously a one-of-a-kind, and Alexander wore it proudly. He was all too glad to tell Michael all about where he had found each stone and had them perfectly, specifically placed in their designated designs. Michael found he very much liked this man; he was a delight to chat with and he turned out to be very obviously pleased to see him turn out, “Just wait til Sammy and ****** see you here!” he beamed and Michael giggled to himself. Oh, if only he knew!

Alexander excused himself after a few moments to keep vigil at the door so he could greet any other comers. Michael understood and decided to cruise the room for a bit.

He almost couldn’t believe the kind of turnout he found. Half of these people he’d only heard of, yet never had the opportunity to meet. Was that Shaquille O’Neal? Standing next to Claire Sinclair? Holy cow! Were these people all fans of the show? Or – some definitely had to be friends. Everyone seemed comfortable enough with each other.

And relatively friendly. Shaq, he knew, proved himself to be a tremendously nice guy. And quite the comic, as well! Within ten minutes, Michael’s gut was screaming from all the belly laughs. He hadn’t even made his way halfway into the party yet an already he was looking forward to coming back to these little get-togethers; nice atmosphere, great people – and just like him, too! Everyone seemed so at ease. It must be nice to be able to just chill with everyone without any disturbances every once in a while. He could sure get used to this…

“No! Way!”

Michael jumped at the sound of a _very_ loud voice at the other end of the room. He resisted the urge to run and hide. But Sammy said this place was free of fans, didn’t he? Maybe someone had a few too many drinks and was just having fun…

“I can’t believe it! Is that Michael Jackson? Guys, Michael Jackson’s here!”

There were a few gasps, several head-turns, and abruptly the enormous room felt a lot smaller. Michael froze, suddenly very tense. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. (And did he hear a couple of mopeds fire up…?) He really didn’t want to beg, but before he could stop himself, he turned to Shaq – almost cowering behind him. He wasn’t sure where the impending stampede was coming from, but one thing kept running through his head, “Hide me!”

Even he was surprised to hear his voice reduced to a mere squeak. Shaq played cool. He stepped in front of him, ready to block whatever was coming their way, “I’ll cover you, man. Get around the bar. You should be able to slip into the next room.”

Michael sent silent thanks and did as he was told. He sidled into a corner by the bar. The bartender gave him a sympathetic look, “Sorry about that, man. Even entertainers can be fanboys.” Michael was beyond stressed out at this point; all he could manage was a pitiful nod. “You look like you could use a drink.” Instantly, a seven-and-seven was set down in front of him. “Now go find a hidey-hole and have a drink in peace.”

“Right,” Michael hurriedly snatched the glass, gave the bartender a smile in thanks, and turned to slip into the door behind him.

“Hi, Michael!”

Michael swore he felt his heart stop for a couple of beats. All he could process was: he turned, reached for the door as he went, next thing he knew there were a pair of bright, young eyes staring him nose-to-nose and a voice that was way too excited. He couldn’t repress a yelp and suddenly Crown and Seven-Up was running down his jacket. Oh, damn! That was going to be a pain to wash out!

“Oh, I’m sorry!” the young man instantly piped. He grabbed a few napkins to wipe him down, but Michael halted his hands and took the napkins himself; he was already frazzled and _really_ couldn’t tolerate being touched, now.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I was just so excited to see you here! I’m such a fan of yours! I’m Frank Marino.”

“Nice to meet you, Frank,” Michael replied in a strained calm voice. Damn, the Crown was definitely going to stain. And it was cold! And the Seven-Up was sticky! “What do you do?”

“Oh, I star in the show ‘ _Divas_ ’. You might know me as the Joan Rivers impersonator. Some people think it’s weird that I’m a female impersonator, but unless you know I’m a really a guy, you can’t tell, right? But I guess that’s the point of a drag show, I mean guys who can be women and pass off as them? That’s real skill and talent, right?”

“Right.” Well, at least the jacket’s black. Maybe no one will notice…?

“But look at how many people impersonate you. If I didn’t know Sammy never goes out in costume, I would have just thought you were him. Hey, I bet that’s the ultimate disguise, right? I mean, here in Vegas, there are so many people working as you, you could probably walk around like normal and people would probably not even give you a second glance! Still, isn’t it scary, how the transition happens? I mean, look at how dark Sammy’s skin is – I mean, he’s only half-black, but still he’s darker than you – I hope you don’t take offense to that, I mean you look great – anyways, and then POOF! With all that stage make-up and work he does, he looks just like you! Hell, some people have even told me I look more like Joan Rivers than Joan Rivers! That’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Pretty crazy,” where did Shaq go? Michael didn’t want to be rude, really. But he came here to _relax_! It’s nice he had fans even in the entertainment industry but PLEASE, somebody let him breathe! Better yet, just treat him like a normal person!

 

 

“How nice of you two to join us! Stuck in traffic?”

“Stick a ball-gag in it, Alex,” you aren’t necessarily on a mission to be rude, per se. Your patience is just running way low and it is not going to fix itself without a few shots.

Alex hardly seems perturbed, “Feisty already? The party hasn’t even kicked off yet!”

“Can you imagine her on her own merit at this point?” Sammy retorts, taking his and your jackets to place in the closet. “Her courtesy in introductions hasn’t improved.”

“You’re going to hold that against me forever, aren’t you?” you snap. “It was an honest mistake!”

“Try an exercise in flexibility with how deep you shoved your foot in your mouth. Seriously, _why_ did _What’s On_ name you ‘Vegas’ Most Charming Captivator’?”

“Because in Vegas, standards are pretty low; it doesn’t take a lot to be more preferable than the guy next door. Now, if you gentlemen would excuse me…”

You feel the stares of your two friends boring into your back as you make your way towards the bar. You get stopped once or twice on your way – a photograph here, a handshake and ‘I freaking LOVE your show!’ there, and ‘oh Hello again, Shaq. Lovely to see you made it out. Have a great time and we’re glad you enjoyed the show.’ You recite all your lines to a tee. You’re an expert.

 

“What the hell got her panties in a twist?”

Sammy didn’t even bother to try not to roll his eyes, “She’s being her quintessential self. A winning personality.”

“I hope she lightens up soon. We had a few surprises show up tonight. Shaq’s already here and you are SO not going to believe who popped up out of nowhere.”

“I bet who _we_ ran into is gonna be an even bigger shock…”

Alex bit his lips. He could hardly believe it himself, “Eh, I don’t know,” he sing-songed. “This one’s a real kick in the nuts.”

Sammy leveled him with a cocked eyebrow, “You’d love that.”

Alex’s expression morphed into a devious smirk. “Hmm. Well, only if it’s with someone special…” Sammy acted fast – whacking Alex across the face before the older man could wrap his arms around Sammy’s smaller waist. Alex appropriately recoiled, but the grin didn’t vanish.

“I’m chaperoning tonight, Alex. I’m trying to keep us _from_ making a scene.”

“Better rope off the bar, then.”

Sammy exchanged serious looks with Alex this time. Both knew everything that statement meant, “We’re not staying long. I won’t give her a _chance_ to make a bigger ass of herself.”

“Something tells me she got a head start before you guys showed up…” Alex’s stare was calculating, but Sammy knew it was already established what they had done. Alex was worse than a mother – eyes in the back of his head AND could see through walls on the other side of a building. And was coddling as hell.

“How else was I supposed to get her calmed down enough to be around people? You know how she gets…”

Alex crossed his arms over his chest, disapproving, “You know, you’re ever proving yourself the typical enabler.”

“I’m not an –!” Sammy suddenly ducked and both men glanced around, noting with relief that no one had turned their way at his loud burst of voice. “I’m not enabling,” he finished in a hushed volume. “Yes, she has a problem, I get that. But that’s really the only crutch we’ve got right now. Can you imagine what she’d be like if we tried to keep her _away_ from it? She’s more likely to hurt herself, not to mention us!”

“She’s really far gone,” Alex sighed. “We need to do something – and soon – before some permanent damage is done.”

“Just not tonight, okay?” Sammy nearly pleaded. Alex leveled him with a _stare_. “We’ll talk to her tomorrow. Let her be for right now. It’s been a rough night.”

Alex seemed to consider Sammy’s words, “Tomorrow. We’re dark, so no excuses. It’s past time we get this under control.”

“Tomorrow. No excuses. Indefinitely.”

 

 

Michael tried his best to disguise his ever-wandering eyes. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a distraction right about this point. Frank was a nice enough guy, but there’s only so much ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s he could take after such an exhausting day. He got his chance when he caught two recently familiar faces emerge through the door.

“Excuse me, Frank,” he cut in as politely as he could manage. “I just noticed a friend of mine. Could you excuse me for a second? I’ll be right back.” He was gone before Frank could offer a reply.

He noticed a bit of tension in the air by the time he’d reached where Sammy and Alex were strolling, each with a cocktail in their hands. He didn’t want to be rude, though, so he settled on a friendly greeting. Both faces instantly lit upon his arrival.

“Good Lord, Michael! What happened to you?” Alex exclaimed, taking note of his jacket. “Here, give me that! I’ll have it dry-cleaned for you.”

“Eh – okay,” Michael acquiesced, given that Alex didn’t give him an option.

“Hey! Glad you made it!” Sammy offered.

Alex appeared aghast, “Wait – aren’t you surprised? Your idol’s standing right in front of you!”

“I knew he’d be here. ****** and I met him down in the lobby.”

“Where? When?! How come nobody tells me anything?”

“If you weren’t kissing every square inch of Shaq’s ass, maybe you would have noticed ****** making one of herself.”

Alex rolled his eyes with what was obviously reminiscence, “Greeeat. What she do this time?”

“It wasn’t that bad, really,” Michael laughed kindly. “It was an honest mistake, which, clearly, she was wholly embarrassed about. I can’t hold that against her.”

Both Sammy and Alex exchanged looks before turning back to him, “Ah, naivety. I remember those days,” Alex mused, taking a sip.

Michael tried to laugh, but it didn’t appear Alex was joking, “What do you mean? I don’t think she would have behaved like that to a stranger on purpose.” Sammy and Alex simultaneously took a long gulp. “Right…?”

“Let’s just say ****** is charming in her own way,” Sammy offered. “Sometimes even _she_ doesn’t realize how much.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“To put it simply,” Alex began. “She’s been through a lot. She’s a little jaded, especially towards people. That’s why she tends to be a bit of a recluse. Not exactly what you’d call a ‘people-person’.”

“I’m sure given the chance she’d be nice company. Maybe if I chat with her for a little bit she’ll feel a little more comfortable. Where is she, anyways?”

“Knowing her? Anywhere there’s nearby alcohol, at this point. But good luck finding her. And if you do, let us know; our pal Tony wants to talk to her about her next special.”

“You mean she’s not here?”

“Oh, she’s here,” Sammy put in. “Somewhere. She likes to brood alone.”

“Brood?”

“She tends to have these ‘funks’,” said Alex. His tone sounded a little pitying. “Manic depressives are like that: really high highs, but _really_ low lows.”

Sammy’s tone sounded equally down, “More lows, lately…”

Michael furrowed his brow at the cynical comments, but decided to brush it off. Maybe it’s just been an off night for everyone.

 

…Did Alex say ‘manic depressive’?

 

 

Despite the night’s rocky start, Michael found he was enjoying himself here. Sammy proved to be just as likable as Alex – though two men’s interaction with each other puzzled Michael a little. It became evident early on that Alex was EXTREMELY homosexual, and had absolutely no shame in it. He seemed to enjoy antagonizing Sammy with his flirtatious advances – to which the latter continuously countered with a swift SMACK! Regardless, they seemed relatively close and comfortable with each other. Obviously they had known each other just about as long as the third member of their little trio. Their relationship was a delight to witness and Michael couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit of jealousy. The only one he came even close to that kind of chemistry with was with his sister Janet – and he saw her so rarely nowadays. According to these two, they practically lived on top of each other at times, especially when touring.

“You say you’ll be heading out on the road soon?”

Sammy nodded as he brought three more cocktails over to their place on one of the sofas, “We try to tour at least once a year. We’re known and everything, but we like to show what we’re made of. We’re not as big as we could be yet, but we’re getting closer each year.”

“Have you ever toured outside of the U.S.?”

“We’re working on that,” Alex replied. “We’ve gotten a few offers, but it’s hard to get enough time way from the live show now to cover some decent distance, make a profit, AND make it back here to resume. We’ve done a few television specials, but they haven’t quite hit the nail on the head yet.”

“So, all those stunts she does on-stage, they’re for real?”

“As a heart attack. It’s even more dynamic up-close and on location. It’s going out there that helps spawn her crazy ideas. Sometimes I think she’s got bigger cojones than my last one-nighter.”

Michael nearly choked on his drink at Alex’s blunt mental image. He could feel Sammy glaring at him over his shoulder, “Way to nearly give the guy a heart attack, man. Do we have to sensor you every time we have a conversation with someone?”

“Can _you_ think of a better anology?”

“I get the picture, guys, really,” Michael cut in before they could continue. He liked these two men, but he admitted that they were a tad nutty. That being established, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to try bearing their comparing ‘better analogies’. “But I have to get going here soon; I’m leaving in the morning.”

“Oh, of course!” Alex exclaimed and they all stood. “I’m sorry; we just always lose track of time. It’s such a delight chatting with you!”

“Likewise,” Michael replied with a beam. “You made my experience here very enjoyable. I hope I’ll be able to come back for a visit sometime?”

“Anytime! You know where we’ll be.”

“And when we head out on the road in August, we’ll be cutting through Cali,” Sammy put in. “Maybe you’ll drop in? We’ve got some new developments we’re trying out. We’d love your feedback.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to.”

“We’ll walk you out,” Alex suggested. “No sense in you getting mobbed.”

“Thanks so much! But…” Michael glanced around him. There was a significant decline in the number of people in the room, but still he was having trouble spotting a particular someone in the room. “Well, I would hate to leave without bidding Miss ****** goodbye.”

Sammy and Alex once again exchanged looks – this time uneasy ones, “Ehm, we can tell her for you,” the former suggested. “It’s late and you have to get back.”

“Just a minute longer won’t hurt,” Michael insisted. “From what you tell me, she’s a big admirer of my work. I don’t want her to be upset that I left without proper farewell.”

Sammy grimaced the same time Alex tried to nonchalantly scratch behind his ear, “I doubt she’s even coherent enough to know you’re here…”

Michael didn’t seem to hear him as he trekked about the room. There were a few more recognizable faces – some of which he waved to in passing. He finally found who he was looking for in a back corner, where the lighting was considerably dimmer. She was seated on the corner of a couch, leaning her cheek against a half-empty glass of what Michael assumed to be scotch in her hand, judging by the smell. She didn’t seem to notice him, even when he sat himself down beside her.

He thought he heard a sniffle, but the sound was so faint, he could have imagined it. He tried to be mindful of what the guys had told him earlier. This young lady was probably not having a good night – which would explain her bizarre behavior outside the theater. He could understand that. Sometimes he himself just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

“Hi,” he softly offered, not knowing how else to start out. “I know you’re probably not feeling very up to company. I understand, trust me. But I just wanted to wish you a good night.” There was definitely a faint sniffle that answered him, he noted with sympathy. But he also noted the lack of acknowledgement otherwise. He gently laid a hand on her knee. “You have an amazing talent and a great show. I wish you luck and I hope you go as far as you dream to. You have great friends behind you. They’ll take care of you.” Finally, she turned towards him. The light was too low for him to make out her face, but he was certain he caught the faint traces of a smile. He smiled back as sweetly as he could and pulled her into a gentle hug. She didn’t return the gesture, but she didn’t reject it either. He took that as a good sign as he pulled away, “Goodnight, hon.”

He stood, but he felt a tug on his sleeve. He bounded back; it was her. The glass of scotch slipped from her hand. Michael didn’t have time to do anything about it; instantly, she pulled herself to her feet and he could clearly see how bloodshot her eyes were. He was about to ask her if she was all right, but before he could get a word out, her entire body collapsed. Michael had just enough time to catch her right before she hit the floor. She was out-cold.

Michael stayed crouched there for a moment and glanced around. Nobody was near enough to notice. It was debatable whether or not that was a good thing. He had to admit he was at a loss at what to do. He couldn’t just leave her there. And that loveseat wasn’t a suitable substitute for a bed.

Well, he decided, the room he had tried to sneak into earlier had a bed, he saw. It was best she slept this night off in solitude, anyway.

As gently as he could manage, Michael lifted the surprisingly light woman up into his arms and began to head towards the room by the bar. He’d come back to clean up the spilled drink after.

It wasn’t easy, but Michael managed to turn on the lamp by the door, as well as on the nightstand, before he laid her down on the king-sized bed. Even in this faint, yellow light she didn’t look well. He could relate to that, too. Too many times he had to perform an over-packed concert with nausea, chills, and 100+ degree temps. He decided to try and make her as comfortable as possible. Those confining leather boots couldn’t have been very pleasant to sleep in.

The side buckles took him a few minutes with their flashy design, but once he got the inside zippers down, the boots slid off relatively easily. He couldn’t help but stop to admire their superb design. Obviously whoever fabricated Alex’s jacket was the same who’d designed these boots. Very high-end. One-of-a-kind as well.

Michael couldn’t help but notice something very odd when he removed the left boot. As he peeled off the clingy material and smoothed out the denim underneath, he felt something rather solid and bulky that definitely wasn’t flesh of a leg. Tenderly, he felt with his fingers through the fabric the odd contour. It stretched from halfway down the calf to almost completely up the thigh. It was mostly on the sides, with a few slabs of thick material connecting the two solid structures in segments. Curious, he began to roll up the pant leg. He had to stifle a gasp at what he saw.

It was a metal, jointed leg brace. It had joints at the knee, which obviously enabled it to bend accordingly. It also had supports all over the knee. It must have been holding it in place. From the looks of its fastening, the brace appeared to be a fairly permanent fixture – rarely removed. Michael couldn’t believe it. After seeing this woman move – leap, dance, and prance – on-stage, he could have never guessed! He ran his finger over the sturdy metal. It looked like a complicated setup. How could such complex movements this woman pulled of be possible? And how painful it must be! Michael couldn’t even begin to imagine.

He suddenly felt dirty for invading what was clearly something private. Obviously, if he was clueless to the support’s existence prior to this, she had taken great care to keep it that way. He stepped away and tried not to stare. He caught sight of a bathroom off to the side and made his way in that direction instead. He found a washcloth and soaked it in warm water before bringing it back to the bed with him. Sleeping with make-up on was bad for the pores, this he knew. As gently as he could, he began to scrub the foundation off her sculpted face.

 

 

The first thing you notice is something wet and a little coarse running repeatedly over your cheek. You’re familiar with this routine, so at first you see no reason to panic. It’s actually a soothing feeling, but you feel bad that your friends feel obligated to do this for you. You don’t pointedly _try_ to make a nuisance of yourself for them, but it just seems to always turn out that way.

You’re still a little groggy, but you’re functional. You reach for the hand controlling the wet cloth, trying to smile in thanks. When you open your eyes, you feel a combination of reactions.

The first one is confusion. The face in front of you is neither Sammy nor Alex. The second is surprise – the face is actually your idol. He’s nearly nose-to-nose with you. You can smell his cologne from this (lack of) distance. Given that, you feel a bit of contentment. It’s nice to see him, but – The next emotion you feel is alarm. He is obviously the one cleaning off your face. But _why_? He doesn’t know what’s under your make-up – what’s he doing here anyways? You feel bewilderment next as you look around. You’re in the Crash Room – where you and/or the crew tends to crash after a meeting that runs too late and no one has the energy to get themselves home. It’s just the two of you here. You feel a bit of a draft and when you look down at your left leg – where you most prominently feel it – you feel a mixture of both defensiveness and anger.

“Get away from me!” you burst. Michael jumps at your loud exclamation. His eyes have grown huge. You panic, pushing his face roughly away. “What are you looking at?!” you remember the cool patch on your cheek. Instantly, you cover it with your hand.

“I just – I was only – I thought - ”Michael stammers. He’s clearly lost for words. Good. You hope you’ve startled him – maybe even scared him.

“What were you doing? Why’d you - ?” you jump to your feet. Michael leaps back a few feet. You feel a twinge and you try to push your pant leg down with your free hand. It’s not very progressive. “You saw nothing, you hear me? Now, how much _did_ you see?!” your voice is undoubtedly hysterical at this point. You hardly care.

“I only – I was just trying to help,” Michael explains faintly. His voice has gone very soft, clearly frightened. “I meant no harm.”

“Yeah, no one does, right?” you bite back. You’ve heard these lines before, all of them. You just never dreamed you’d be hearing them from someone you’d always secretly compared to an angel. “What do _you_ want from me? Go ahead, name your price. They all do. What’s it gonna take to keep _you_ quiet?”

“Huh? What are – what do you mean?” Michael’s expression appears confused, but you’ve seen that before, too. You know this game. Best to snip it in the bud.

“Oh, wait, let me guess…” you gesture all around you, signaling to the room the two of you are occupying. “You brought me to a nice, quiet, secluded room. Sorry to interrupt your game plan! Doesn’t anybody _ask_ anymore?” you know your words are probably hurtful, but your inhibited state of mind doesn’t allow you to care. Besides, if your idol of all people sank this low, why should you feel bad?

“Now just a minute!” ah, not so innocently confused now, are we Michael? You note with bleak satisfaction the gaping mouth and furrowed brow on that damn fair face. How the hell could someone be _that_ beautiful and then _dare_ to pretend to be so naive? “How dare you say those things? I wasn’t trying anything! I just didn’t want to leave you out there. You passed out! What was I supposed to do?”

You laugh loudly. It’s not kind, “How about minding your own business? I didn’t ask you to swoop in and save me! I can take care of myself, thank you _very_ much!”

“That I can see!” Michael snaps back. All bewilderment is gone from his tone and now only raw anger remains. “I’ll remember that the next time I decide to be a gentleman.”

“Gentleman, huh? You’re still using that line after you’ve already gotten me in here? Were you still planning on taking your pants completely off so you don’t feel _too_ much like a scoundrel? Oh, wait! That’s probably irrelevant now that you’ve seen the hardware. Be careful what you get tangled in! Unless it’s a kink of yours, anyway!”

An indigent squeak actually escapes Michael’s throat at this point. Then his jaw tightens and you’re positive you’ve fully succeeded in insulting him now (even though you’re not entirely sure what you’ve said). “Well I can see why you prefer to be a loner,” he hisses. “You just can’t function around other people. All you know how to do is attack, as far as I’ve seen. And quite honestly, I’ve seen enough! Good _night_ to you, Miss ******.”

You hear the door slam and suddenly he’s gone.

Michael is gone.

_Michael_ is gone.

You just drove him away. Your idol. The man whose approval means most to you. Suddenly, you realize just what it is you’ve done. You barely acknowledge the throb in your left leg as you slide to the floor, burying your face in your hands.

 

 

Michael tried to keep an even pace as he strode to the door, being mindful not to stomp. He passed Sammy and Alex by the bar, but he didn’t stop except to say a clipped, “It was a pleasure to meet you gentlemen. Good night.”

“Whoa, hold it! Michael, where are you going?” Alex exclaimed, he and Sammy hot on pursuit.

“I have to get going.”

“I sense tension,” Sammy panted. Michael sure took long strides. “Did something happen?”

“You can keep the jacket, Alex. I’ll have another one made. You should use it, Sammy. Someone of your talent would treat it well.”

“Wait up!” Alex and Sammy managed to cut Michael off halfway down the hallway. “Okay, who pissed you off? I’ll have ‘em banned, I promise. I won’t let anyone bother you anymore when you’re here.”

Michael turned to the pair, trying to strain a polite smile, “I’m sorry; don’t take offense. You two have been great tonight. You’re kind, welcoming, and you made my stay very comfortable. I have to also compliment you both; you have the patience worthy of saints. You also have my pity. I hope Miss ****** is paying you well.”

Understanding passed between the two men. Michael continued on his way to the exit. Sammy and Alex hastily followed, practically tripping over one another.

“Michael, please wait!”

“It’s not like this all the time, I promise!”

“Whatever she did, I swear she didn’t mean it!”

“She doesn’t do this on purpose! She didn’t mean anything bad!”

“Sometimes her mouth runs faster than her brain.”

“Just ignore her; we do!”

“Oh, and by the way,” Michael cut in as if the two hadn’t been blabbering a hundred miles a minute. He reached the elevator, had pushed the button to go down, but stopped the doors from closing. “Will you please inform Miss ****** that whatever she wanted to keep secret, she doesn’t have to worry; I won’t be talking to anyone about her. Preferably, I won’t even have to hear her name. Goodnight.”

Sammy and Alex stood in silence after Michael had gone. The night had been going so well! What could have went wrong? The two exchanged long, calculating looks – they each came to the same conclusion.

“You check the bar, I’ll check the lounge.”

“Right.”

 

 

You’re unsure of just how long you sit in numb silence. Your left knee throbs immensely and your vision is extremely blurry – whether from the booze or your pent-up angry tears, you can’t be sure. One fact is for certain though: you screwed up. BIG time.

You hear the door shoot open, but you don’t look up. Whoever it is will go away soon enough.

“Jesus Christ!” you hear Sammy exclaim and the door is shut immediately. “What are you doing?” he moves quickly to right your pant leg and roll it back down. You don’t move to even acknowledge him. “Why’re your pants rolled up? You want someone to see you?”

“They already did…” you hear your own voice reply, but you don’t remember consciously speaking the words. Sammy’s head jolts up, meeting your downcast eyes with forced-calm alarm.

“Come again?”

“He already saw… He knows…”

You can sense Sammy’s confusion, “Run that by me again. What – _happened_?”

Your shut your eyes tight. You can’t look at your best friend. You can’t look at anybody right now, “Sammy, I fucked up. I fucked up _real bad_ this time…”

Sammy is silent for several minutes. Then he sits back on his heels, running a hand through his curly hair. Finally he sighs, “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

With a groan, you drop your face into your hands again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone. Since I got kudos again (YAY!) I decided to send Chapter Four. Please leave a comment on yor way out; I'll update faster! ...Pretty pleeeeease?? 
> 
> Much love! Have fun!

_Chapter Four_

 

Michael was sure sick of press conferences. Always the same questions, the same aggravating people. How much longer did they expect him to just sit there and smile while select jerks verbally abuse him?

It was bad enough one of his own _fans_ attacked him.

Two weeks had passed since that disastrous night in Las Vegas. He knew it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did…but he couldn’t help it. He just _couldn’t_ understand what he had done so wrong. Who knows what vile things could have happened if he’d hadn’t taken initiative? If he had left her unattended and defenseless in a room full of men? The thought alone nauseated him.

Well, that’s the story of his life: reach out and try to help someone, and be labeled the world’s biggest asshole. Couldn’t someone just give him a _break_ , already??

Michael breathed a sigh of relief when the conference finally ended. He was so tired. Between the jetlag and insomnia, it was a blessing he had his sunglasses to hide how low his eyelids were drooping. He _really_ couldn’t wait to retire to his dressing room to change out of his flashy clothes.

He nearly tripped over himself when he opened the door and saw what – or rather _who_ – was perched in his favorite chair, obviously waiting for him.

After a lengthy pause during which they just stared silently at each other, Michael finally stirred – and slammed the door shut. He _soooo_ did not need this right now!

“Who let you in?”

Someone was _DEFINATELY_ fired.

 

 

You grimace at Michael’s harsh tone, but try to turn it into a greeting smile. This is going to be tough, “I had to talk to you.”

“I think you did plenty of that a couple of weeks ago,” he spits back, tearing off his jacket with sharp movements.

You feel guilty all over again – and uncomfortable, “Look, I know that wasn’t a pretty scene – in a lot of ways.”

Michael huffs, “Trust me, I know.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose before continuing, “You really didn’t deserve to have me yelling at you. I know you were just trying to help.”

“I almost hate to wonder if _you_ deserve whatever disaster you were drinking yourself into.”

Ouch. Okay, that one stung.

“Michael, will you please just listen?” you ask desolately. “I’m trying to level with you. Yes, I was very out of line. Yes, I had a bit too much to drink - ”

“A bit?”

You bite your tongue. He’s not making this easy on you. And that damn pointed stare isn’t helping your concentration… “Quite a bit. I woke up in a panic. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just want to explain myself – then if you still want me to leave, I’ll go. I’ll even call security myself to escort me out.”

He stops for a moment. You can’t tell whether his expression has changed or not, but when he speaks again after a moment, his voice is softer – almost tired, “Will you get out of my chair, please?”

You practically scramble away from the plush seat. Michael all but drops into it and lets out a long exhale. He then looks back up at you, removing his sunglasses. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen, “I’m listening,” he says.

You bite your lips, suddenly nervous. You weren’t entirely sure if you would get _this_ far – now you had to figure out how to explain. You shift on your feet for moment, and then decide to settle for leaning against his make-up desk. You _really_ don’t want to see that mirror.

“Michael, look. I – uh. Well…” Michael continues to watch you. He uncrosses his legs just to re-cross them the other way. He’s probably enjoying making you fidget. You release a sigh, “What you saw that night – you saw something that no one else has before. I’ve kept that side of me hidden so long that…I wasn’t ready to have someone find out – much less you.”

Michael looks more tired than ever, now, “I saw an artificial support on your leg. What’s to get upset about? You’re human. Do you want to know how many times _I_ hurt myself during a rehearsal – or a show?”

A bitter laugh erupts from your throat before you can stop it, “This is something a _little_ more permanent than a twisted ankle or a broken nose.” You feel fidgety all the sudden; you begin to pace the room. Michael swivels his chair to follow you. “And you know better than anyone what this kind of information could do if it ended up in the wrong hands.” The look on Michael’s face tells you that he somberly agrees. You continue before he can get a word in. “Besides, it’s not just the leg. If anyone knew what I really - ” you stop yourself, realizing what you almost revealed. You glance back at Michael. His interest seems piqued.

“What you really what?” he prods. You accidentally catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You repress a shudder before returning your gaze to him.

“The point is, things got a little messy when they shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I can’t even think straight lately with amount of guilt I’m living with right now. Is there any way we can start over?”

Michael sits silently for several minutes. You begin to wonder if you’d blown it long before you ever set foot in Munich. He suddenly reaches one hand up to vigorously rub his eyes, a long sigh escaping his lips. When he looks up at you again, you realize you’d been holding your breath, “I’m in town for three more days, but I should be free tomorrow evening. We can get together and have hot chocolate and talk.”

You barely repress a giggle, “Hot chocolate?”

“It tastes better than coffee.”

Your grin stretches so wide it almost hurts, “Okay. Hot chocolate, then.”

“But only on the condition,” Michael abruptly adds. “that you control your temper.”

This time, a laugh does escape. You realize it’s a nice feeling, “I think I can handle that.” You step forward as Michael rises from his seat. You extend your hand and he takes it, “It’s an honor and pleasure to meet you, Michael Jackson. My name is ******.”

Michael shakes your hand in return, his kind smile back on his face “The pleasure is all mine, Miss ******. And please call me Michael.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, time to have some fun! Send some feedback and I'll update quicker. Much love and enjoy! Xoxo

Chapter Five

 

The BattyBaristas CoffeeLounge proves to be simple enough to find. You can’t say much for the taxi ride over, however. It’s hard to understand the driver’s broken English, and it’s too dark to see much of the city to pass the time. Add to that the jetlag over the past several days that didn’t help your travel-exhausted state. You never were able to sleep on airplanes anyways.

Your vision tilts and blurs for a second. You shake your head, rubbing your aching eyes with your thumb and forefinger. Lightheadedness overtakes you for a moment. You’re exhausted. For the past fortnight, it’s been nothing but flying to various points on the map, fly back to Las Vegas, perform two shows a night, Tuesday through Saturday, jump back on a plane and fly to another point, back to Vegas again for two more shows, cycle repeat. Jet lag has thrown your internal clock so far off-course; you’re not even sure how many hours (days?) you’ve gone without sleep.

It hadn’t been easy to track Michael down. First, you’d jumped to L.A., knowing Michael’s home to be in close range. Mr. Jackson hadn’t been available at the time and the staff didn’t want to admit unfamiliar visitors. Mr. Jackson was very protective of his privacy. Fine, you’d decided. You were just going to bide your time until he stepped outside his gates again.

When Michael's chauffer exited the Ranch the next morning, you’d discovered that Michael had flown out, again. Where? You had no idea. By the time you had heard he was returning to record in England and instantly jumped to catch him, he had been called elsewhere once again. It had taken quite a generous bribe to coerce a loose friend of yours and Sammy’s – who’d been friends with the Jacksons for over twenty years – to relay what Michael’s traveling schedule was. Now that you’d finally caught up with him – and gotten him to agree to a rendezvous – you are beginning to realize just how much a toll you’d imposed on your body.

It’s actually a fairly cute set-up, the café. Quaint. Simple. And given the apparent emptiness, you can see why Michael chose this place. You walk inside and glance all around, marveling at the modest – yet comfy – atmosphere. You notice the lack of customers just before a woman in her late-forties comes over to apologize – that the café had been reserved for a single party that night. You’re taken aback, wondering if maybe you came to the wrong address. Just as frustration begins to settle in, a familiar voice calls to the waitress, telling her to send you over.

You inwardly sigh in relief. The last thing you need is to boomerang all over the world searching again. Michael is seated tucked away in a corner. There are a couple of couches, a coffee table, and a side table between the two seats. Michael stands to greet you; even moves to take your jacket. You try to keep your jaw shut. And you blew up at this man?

“I would have ordered your drink already, but I didn’t want it to get cold before you got here.”

You remind yourself to answer, “Eh, that’s okay. Thanks.”

“Two more,” Michael tells the waitress, gesturing for you to take a seat.

The two of you sit in silence at first. You uncomfortably look around you as Michael sips the last of his chocolate. “Private party, huh?” you suddenly burst. “You bought the place out?”

Michael shrugs with a smile as he sets his cup down, “That way we won’t be bothered,” he explains. “I love my fans and all, but sometimes it’s hard to just go out someplace for a quiet drink.”

“Oh,” you reply, not knowing what else to say. You stare at your hands until Michael speaks up again.

“Not very talkative tonight?”

You look up and blush as he smiles teasingly at you, “Uhm. Sorry, I just – I’m not sure what to say, really. I embarrassed the hell out of myself the first time we met, and the second time, I was drunk off my ass - ”

“ – You don’t have to curse.”

“ – And bit your ear off. Then I flew halfway across the world just to apologize and practically beg forgiveness - ”

“ – You didn’t have to beg; I was just hurt.”

“ – So I don’t think I’m the best candidate in the room to start a conversation.” You notice you’d been rambling; Michael just sits there, amused expression on his face. Your cheeks heat up. “I rest my case…”

A loud laugh erupts from Michael. He startles the portly waitress as she brings to large mugs topped with whipped cream. You take both from her before they can be spilled. “It’s like I’m sitting with a whole other person!” laughs Michael as he takes his cocoa. “The girl I met in Las Vegas was a lot more confident and outspoken!”

“Like I said,” you reply, ducking your head in embarrassment. “Drunk off my - ”

“Very drunk,” he corrects you before you can finish. He gives you a pointed look. You get the hint.

“Right,” you concede. “Very drunk.”

“Though I noticed that the way you behave around Sammy isn’t very different while you were at the party.”

You chuckle to yourself, “Oh. Sammy and I are like family; we don’t pull punches with each other.”

“You two seem close. Have you known each other long?”

“Since before my career started to take off,” you pause to take a sip. “That’s really nice.”

“It’s my favorite,” he replies with a smile. “Every time I come to Germany, I have to come here at least once.”

“You have good taste, I’ll give you that. Oh, my God - !”

“ – Lord.”

“ – Is that a cookie?”

Michael laughs again, “Yes. That’s what they call ‘American-sized’.”

“American-sized’?!” you exclaim, picking it up from the saucer. “That’s more like ‘planet-sized’!”

“Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll eat it!”

You jerk your hand out of reach just as Michael makes a grab for it, “No! You’ve got your own!”

“Well, I decided I want yours!”

You repress the urge to laugh, catching on to his game, “I want mine, too!”

“I’m bigger than you.”

“I’m smarter.”

“I’m faster.”

“I’m prettier.”

“Oh yeah? Who says?” Michael pauses, but is still reaching towards your side of the table. You plant a hand on his face and push him away.

“It goes without saying! Besides, anything you can do, I can do better!”

Michael stills for a second, appearing to think. You take another sip of your hot chocolate, and then level his expression with a challenging one of your own. Then Michael leans forward again with purpose. You prepare to protect your cookie – even moving to take a bite from it. Ha! It’s definitely yours now!

“I can do anything better than you!”

You’re not sure if you’ve imagined it or not, but there might have been a sing-song inflection in Michael’s voice. You decide to test your theory, “No, you can’t.”

Michael’s response is immediate, “Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can! Yes, I can! Yes, I can!”

Theory confirmed, you burst into laughter and so does Michael. “You know ‘Annie Get Your Gun?’” he asks.

“Are you kidding? I love ‘Annie Get Your Gun’! Next to ‘Chicago’, it’s probably my favorite musical!”

“’Chicago’? But that’s such a twisted storyline!”

“I know! That’s what makes it so interesting!”

“But wouldn’t you rather prefer something like…”

“Don’t you dare say ‘Peter Pan’!”

Michael’s jaw falls agape. He appears appalled, “I wasn’t! I was going to say something like ‘Guys and Dolls’!”

You nearly choke on your drink as you begin to giggle again, “Okay, you definitely wouldn’t survive an opera.”

“Why would I want to?” Michael retorts. “Operas are so depressing!”

“But they’re realistic!”

“Realistic ISN'T singing every word that comes out of your mouth.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, “This coming from Mr. Theatrical?”

“Hey, I’M entertaining. Operas are proof that it’s possible to die of boredom.”

“Well,” you say, perking up and squaring your shoulders. “What if I say your Moonwalk is boring?” you strain to keep a straight face at the look on Michael’s. You’re not THAT fond of opera, but teasing him is just too much fun!

“You take that back!”

“Nope!”

“Say you didn’t mean it!”

“No way!”

“You’re going to regret it!”

“I’m sure,” you fix him with a sickly sweet smile. He glowers at you in return. Suddenly, he moves and you’re too slow to stop him. The next thing you know, he’s grinning at you with his mouth obviously full. “Hey! Michael, that’s mine!”

He takes a swig before replying, “Not anymore!”

You charge, but he jumps out of the way. You make a dive for the remaining half of his cookie, but you fumble. Michael notices your game plan. He reaches the cookie first, but you’ve got his wrists. They’re significantly bigger than your own hands, but years in show business didn’t leave you powerless; you’re just strong enough to prevent him from devouring the rest of the dessert. You both slide off the couch as you continue to struggle.

“You play dirty, Michael! Give it back!”

“No!”

“I’m warning you! I have select methods of torture at my disposal!”

“Captain Eo never surrenders! You’ll never – Hey! Stop it!” Michael suddenly squeals. You do a mental victory dance when you successfully locate one of his most ticklish spots. “That’s not fair!”

“Give up the cookie and I’ll spare you!”

“Never!”

“A-hem!”

Both of you look up at the sound of an indigent huff. Michael is pinned face-down under you, blocking the cookie from you with his body. He almost head-butts you behind him when he looks up, but thank heaven for your quick reflexes.

The waitress is back, and by the expression of scold on her face, you figure you two were being fairly loud in your antics. You both apologize in unison and you’re sure you’re blushing again.

“I don’t think they like us anymore…” you ponder out loud. When you receive no answer, you nudge Michael. “Hey, you listening?”

“Hmm?”

“I said I – you cheater!” you nearly want to choke him when you see him swallow the last of the treat.

“Shh!” he scolds playfully. “I think we annoyed them! You want to get us kicked out?”

You shove off of him and return to your seat. You make it obvious you’re pouting, “You’re a cheater…”

“Don’t be such a baby,” he laughs. “I’ll order you a new one!”

“I wanted mine…”

“Oh, come on! It’s only a cookie.” You scowl at him. Before he can react, you grab his cup and drain it. “Hey! I was drinking that!”

You cross your arms and give him a smug look, “Now it’s even.”

The two of you continue to stare hard at each other. Unexpectedly, Michael surprises you when he giggles, “I guess we solved one problem.”

You huff, though you’re not really that upset at him, “Oh, yeah? What? I’m still cookie-less.”

Michael gives another laugh. He lightly places a hand on your knee and his eyes are sparkling, “Looks like we figured out to have a conversation.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more fun...
> 
> Hello again, everyone! Thanks so much to my commenters! Remember, the more feedback, that feasted I update. Thanks so much to all those who are supporting! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Xoxoxo

Chapter Six

After a few more hours and about half a dozen cups of hot chocolate, no matter how much Michael tries to pay the staff, eventually the café shoos you out so they can close for the night. They even send two cups to-go with you so you’ll leave.

Honestly, you can’t remember the last time you had this much fun. Michael does make good on his promise and buys you not just one, but a whole doggy-bag of cookies, brownies, and scones. The two of you argue over the bill; you insisting you’re treating him on account of making amends while he remains adamant that he chose the time and place, therefore technically, he invited you so it’s his treat. Finally, Michael wins out on the notion that he’s a gentleman and no woman has ever paid the bill on his watch. You relent when he agrees to allow you to leave the tip.

It’s obvious that neither one of you are tired. Seeing that it’s nearly two in the morning, Michael invites you to have a glass of wine with him.

“You just have to try the bottle of Beerenauslese I picked up last night! It’s really sweet, but it goes with dessert really well! Besides, I’ve got to hear the rest of the story about Sammy getting knocked in the pool!”

You barely contain your laughter as you continue your story from before you got kicked out of the café. You have Michael guffawing the entire ride to his hotel while regaling him with your memories filled with an out-of-towner showing up at one of Alex’s bashes, getting shit-face drunk, stripping naked and coming onto Sammy. When your best friend had refused to skinny-dip with him, the six-foot-five athlete had scooped him up and tossed him into the water – cocktail, $1200 jacket, and all.

“You’re making that part up!” Michael gasped between gasps of air as he let you two into his suite.

“No, seriously! It’s true! It took six guys PLUS Alex to pull the guy off of him!”

“And where were you while all this was happening?”

“Where I should have been: rolling on the grass laughing my a – butt off.”

Michael laughs even harder in disbelief, “You mean you didn’t try to help him? I thought he’s your best friend!”

“Well, the guy said it was all Sammy’s fault he looked ‘so damn edible’ in those clothes. The look on his face was too priceless to pass up on!”

Michael barely manages to hand you your glass without spilling it, “I’m certain you’re positively evil!”

“No, I just have a healthy sense of humor.”

 

You decide that you like Beerenauslese. Michael was right: a tad on the too-sweet side, but the gooey brownies toned down the punch-to-the-face flavor. Michael tries once or twice to sneak a couple for himself, but you still hadn’t forgiven him completely for snatching your cookie from earlier. Though, it’s nearly impossible to resist the pouty puppy-dog face he continues to shoot your way. Finally, you concede and toss him a scone.

“You have really pretty eyes.”

You feel yourself double take at Michael’s random compliment. You glance over and catch him leaning on one elbow against the arm of the sofa he’s occupying. His half-empty wine glass is barely managing not to spill. A hiccup escapes your throat and you giggle.

“What?”

“Your eyes,” he repeats dreamily. “They’re a little sad, but they’re pretty. Pretty things are usually sad anyway.”

You subconsciously take another sip and try to fight away the blurry vision creeping up on you. Wine usually isn’t your drink of choice, but… “You’re pretty.” You point out, still not quite sure of the message he’s trying to convey.

“I’m sad,” he confirms.

You cock your head to the side, slightly, “Why?”

Michael shifts around on his sofa so he can fold both of his arms over the side and rest his chin on them, “You ever hear the saying ‘It’s lonely at the top’?”

“A time or two. Why?”

“It IS lonely. Almost no one treats you like a person. You know how long it’s been since I’ve just gone for a night out with a friend, just to do it and not be bothered? I don’t mind buying places out, but I shouldn’t HAVE to. I’m glad people appreciate my work and everything, but sometimes I wish I could just be ‘Michael’, not the ‘King of Pop’.”

You find yourself sitting silently for a time. It really is a sad story – you already knew, but hearing it straight from his lips makes it even harder to bear. You had no delusions about fame and popularity (you’ve experienced it in a smaller scale in Vegas), it’s not easy to live through, but knowing people appreciate you provides a sort of penance just for you doing what you love most, “So, given the choice,” you speak carefully. “Are you saying you would give up your life as it is? Give up everything you’ve worked for?”

Your question seems to startle Michael, for he suddenly jumps and his voice is more energized again, “No, not at all! I love what I do! I don’t know how to be anything else, really. But, it’s just…” he trails of, staring into his glass. “Sometimes I wish it didn’t have to be so hard…”

Suddenly, you’re not looking at your idol anymore. Instead, what you’re seeing is a hurt, broken individual who paid too high a price for everything he had achieved. He is hated just as much as he is loved. You’ve been an avid studier of ‘Michael Jackson’ since your very early years, but now for the first time, you’re meeting ‘Michael’.

Michael doesn’t deserve to be so sad, you decide. It’s not a great headspace to be in. You know this all too well. Everyday you fight not to sink into it. Unfortunately, you’re not always successful. You’ve accepted that. That doesn’t mean you’ll sit back and watch others drown with you.

You sink into silent thought for a moment. You take a sip, trying to find a lighter topic to talk about…

“So, I guess I’ve discovered the secret to your all your creative ideas.”

Michael shoots a confused look in your direction. Yes, you’ve each had several glasses of wine already, but you’re pretty sure you’re not THAT incoherent yet, “What secret?”

You gesture with your glass, “Inspiration comes from somewhere. At least your choice is classy.”

Michael giggles a bit in return. The lightweight, “That’s not true! Besides, I don’t drink that often.”

“How do I know that?” you retort.

“Well, I certainly don’t wake up attacking whoever’s in the same room with me – not to mention I don’t drink enough to warrant me passing out to begin with.”

Ouchie. Okay, you have to hand it to him on that one, “You sound really intellectual when you’re drunk, you know that?”

“I am not drunk…”

You can’t help but laugh at the look on his face, “Ha! Is that a pout? Michael Jackson, pouting?”

“Michael Jackson does not pout!” well, you would have been halfway convinced by his tone of voice if it wasn’t for the hiccup that followed. You snigger in return.

“Riiiight. And Stephen King writes fairytales.”

“Hey, he DOES write fairytales! They’re just…”

“Evil, creepy, and demented?”

“Exactly!”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but that’s horrific fantasy – not fairytales.”

“What’s the difference between fantasy and fairytales, if you’re so smart?”

“Fairytales are all happiness, butterflies, and rainbows. And have happy endings. Fantasy can be anything fictional.”

Michael appears to contemplate for a second, “I don’t know; Little Red Riding Hood is kind of morbid. I mean, it talks about a little girl being eaten by a wolf!”

“Hey, that doesn’t count!” you interject, gesturing with your glass. A bit of wine spills onto your hand and into the carpet. Neither one of you takes much notice (other than Michael attempting to not-so-gracefully refill it), “That’s a folktale – it has a moral.”

“It’s the same thing as a fairytale!”

“Oh yeah? Tell me, what does ‘The Little Mermaid’ teach?”

Michael takes a little bit more than a sip before answering, “To disobey your parents, run away from home, make some shady deals, and hope everything works out perfectly in your favor.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “THAT’S a meaningful lesson?”

“I didn’t say all stories taught GOOD examples.”

“Well, I guess that says something for ‘Peter Pan’…”

Michael suddenly chokes on his wine. After regaining his breath, he glares at you, “Peter Pan is a good role model! He taught everyone to not let go of the child in them!”

“He lied and made us all believe we could fly!”

“Pixie dust isn’t exactly a dime a dozen, you know. I don’t see pixies flying around at every corner!”

“How do we know pixies even exist? What if he lied about that too!”

With a pitiful yelp, Michael nearly leaps off of his sofa, trying to cover your mouth, “Don’t say that! If fairies DO exist, one dies every time you say they don’t!”

“You said ‘if’!” you mock-gasp. Michael clamps a hand over his own mouth this time. “Murderer!” you laugh. Michael doesn’t share the sentiment. 

“Oh, my God - ”

“ – Lord,” you teasingly correct him.

“ – I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry – ”

“Have some more wine, Tinkerbell,” you offer with the nearly empty bottle. He holds his flute out to you, but doesn’t pay attention otherwise – his face buried in his other hand.

“I do believe in fairies, I do believe in fairies, I do believe in fairies – ”

“I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do I do I do, I do believe in spooks…” Your stomach is aching, you’re giggling so hard. Okay, so you aren’t completely sober either. But since when are you a GIDDY drunk? Hmm…nice change, you suppose.

“Not funny!” Michael scolds, prompting you to laugh even harder.

“I just figured since we were comparing Stephen King with fairytales…”

“You have a gruesome sense of humor!”

“No, no! Healthy sense of humor, Mike! HEALTHY!”

“Besides, if I’m Tinkerbell, you’re Captain Hook!”

Your beam drops, aghast, “ME, Captain Hook? What gave you that conclusion?”

“You’re demented, sadistic, and you laugh at the expense of my suffering!”

“Oh, lighten up!” you laugh again. “Now look who’s being a baby!”

“Speaking of which…”

Okay, you’re DEFINITELY less than sober if you can’t stop him from diving your way a second time in one night. Before you can register it, the doggy bag of treats lying beside you on your couch are snatched away, back in Michael’s greedy claws. You’re after him in a flash, battle cry and all. He tries to escape, but you tackle him before he even gets three steps away from you. Both of your wine glasses are upset, but you’ve got more important matters to attend to; Michael has already dove into the bag, devouring as many brownies and cookies as he can whilst trying to fend you off. You’re both laughing again before too long, despite the war over the sweets. You tear the bag trying to get it back.

The floor is now littered with what’s left of the desserts. You scarf down as many as you can as Michael tries to reclaim the score. He pins you to the floor, tickling every spot he can reach. You squeal – you can’t help it. Your ribs are your kryptonite. You grab what’s left of a brownie lying nearby and smash it into his face. He exclaims loudly, but it’s not without humor. You then slither away, towards another cookie lying beside one of the upset wine flutes. Michael dives and reaches it first. Once again, he pins you down, one of his knees pressing firmly – yet carefully – into your back. You gaze up at him, accepting defeat. It was a hard-fought battle.

Michael grins sheepishly at you. You prop your elbow up on the carpet beneath you, resting your cheek on your hand. Just as he’s about to take a huge bite of the gigantic cookie, he stops, puts it back down, and breaks it in half. His smile is sweet once again (no pun intended) as he hands you one of the pieces. You silently take note that he gave you the slightly bigger half.

You’re unsure of how to react. You lie silently as he drops down beside you, a tired sigh escaping his lips. You’re sure you both look a mess, if the smeared bits of brownie all over Michael’s face are any indication. Not that you care, of course. He turns to face you, his eyes bleary, yet happy as he bites into his half of the treat. You smile back and follow suit; no words really need to be said.

Hmm. Chocolate chip. Tasty…


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Germany...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanza/etc. and a happy beginning to 2015! I'm glad you're all enjoying yourselves. Please, tell me if so! Even if you have suggestions, input, and/or criticism; I appreciate it all. And thanks to my commenters already! You're the reason I'm continuing! Xoxo
> 
> (P.s., I may have forgotten to mention - in case there's any confusion - that this story basically revolves around the Dangerous Era, albeit in modern time. Hope you all don't mind.)

Chapter Seven

 

You take your time waking up, for a change. You can’t remember the last time you felt so comfortable, so content. The pillows beneath your head aren’t your usual tempur-pedic, but they are more than satisfactory. And the thick blanket over your shoulders is cozy, right up to your chin.

As you blearily open your eyes, you realize you don’t recognize the room you are in. It is a hotel suite, yes – a nice one. But the décor is unfamiliar. You’ve been traveling excessively the past couple of weeks non-stop. You haven’t had time to stop to check into a hotel, anyways.

There is a slight stream of light peeking in through the drawn sun-curtains behind you. You don’t move to right the gap in the blissful darkness, but it illuminates a small note card folded in half on the nightstand beside you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Curious, you stretch hard, groaning with satisfaction the various pops and releases of tension in your body. As you sit up, you reach for the card and turn on the bedside lamp. You can smell the faint hint of familiar cologne and you smile. How cute. The neat handwriting on the front fold reads your name. You open it. The handwriting continues on:

 

'Sorry I had to take off. I stayed as long as I could, though. :) Looks like we both fell asleep on the floor… Oops! It must not have been very pleasant to wake up on (trust me, I know!) so I moved you to the bedroom. Hope you don’t mind. You looked exhausted, so I didn’t want to wake you up. But I had a great time last night. I hope you did too. It was nice to just kick back and have fun. I’m glad I agreed to a second chance! ;)

I guess you’re not half bad, once you get to know you. You sure tell such funny stories! Maybe we’ll cross paths again? I have a new album coming up that I’m promoting, but I’m sure I’ll see you sometime. I know you have obligations on your end, though, so whatever happens, happens.

Oh, and please tell Alexander and Sammy I said hi! They’re such fun to be around. You have some interesting friends! I like them. I hope you keep them around for a long time. Whoops, I’m rambling. Sorry about that. Anyways, I have to get going – early meeting and all. Have a safe flight back home. :) And thank you again for such a fun evening!

 

~ Tinkerbell'

 

You read the note two or three more times. You get a strange feeling in your stomach that you don’t recognize, but you’re too busy mulling over the message and the thought put into it to give it much attention. As you finally put it down, you feel a surge of gratification. Yes, you have a history of pushing people away and screwing up relationships with others, but for a change, you salvaged this one – at least you hope so. You have to admit: your life is relatively lonely, too. Maybe in a different sense than Michael’s, but no less painful. You have no family – Sammy and Alex are really all you have. And maybe sometimes you take them for granted, admittedly. Though you have wondered over the years if it would be better for everyone if no one got close to you.

Yet again, both men are so insufferably stubborn that you probably wouldn’t have much of a say in that department anyways.

Ah, hell! You realize with resignation that you’re growing soft. What happened to this strong, sturdy wall of indifference you’ve worked hard for many years to build? What the hell changed?

Irritation settles in. Where did all these racing thoughts come from? It HAD to have been last night’s wine. You KNEW there’s a reason why you usually stay away from the stuff. It makes you think unnatural thoughts.

As you scramble from the too-comfortable bed, you forget about the note on your lap and it drops to the floor. It lands on its front, showing you one last postscript on the backside:

 

‘P.S. I have to apologize, too, for that night back in Vegas. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was a little hurt at the reaction I got, yes, but I guess I didn’t think I was crossing any lines. Obviously, you keep a lot of things to yourself – including pain. I’m sure you have your reasons, but I hope someday you can open up and release it. You would feel so much better about things. I guarantee it.’

 

 

Okay, now it’s time to be confused. He’s talking like he knows all about you.

A phantom pain creeps up your bad knee and instantly you move to sooth it. No, you decide. He knows nothing. None of them do. No one can ever understand you. They can try, sure. But who would want to? Hell, you don’t even have the complete manual on it.

Nice try, Michael.

But thanks…

 

\-----

 

Las Vegas is creeping up on the late-night hours by the time you reach your suite. You’re tired; your thoughts are racing, and yet you feel calmer than you have in several years.

You lock the dead bolt behind you and shed your jacket and fingerless gloves. Before you can flip the light switch, however, the lamp on the side table by the sofa clicks on and you jump with a yelp. You turn in that direction and two unmistakable figures are seated there, cocky smirks and arched eyebrows in place. Those weasels!

“And just WHERE have you been, young lady?” Alex asks audaciously, that damn tongue-in-cheek grin on his face.

“You guys trying to scare me to death?” you scold, ignoring Alex’s inquiry. “I’m too young to have heart attack!”

“You’re such a drama queen, you punk,” huffs Sammy, rolling his eyes. “It’s Sunday night. What are you doing back this early?”

“That glad to see me, huh?” you shoot back, this time without the bite. You stroll to your refrigerator and pull out a bottle of water. “Next time I run away from home, I won’t come back. See how long it takes you to miss me.”

“Stop changing the subject!” your best friend shoots back. He jumps up from the couch to follow you. “Details, girl! What went down?”

Sammy has practically cornered you, so you push passed him and continue your trek back to the sitting room to sit on the sofa, “Nothing went down! There’s just no reason to be sling-shotting all over the place, now.”

“Ooh!” Alex exclaims dramatically. He reclines smugly, supporting his cheek on his hand, Gossip Setting on full max. “Sounds like something DID take place. So tell me: did another foreign country ban you from their premises? Or did you traumatize a school full of innocent children with one of your dramatic entrances while you were turning the reachable buildings upside down?

“Geez! You’re really making me feel like a Grade-A burden on society!”

“LIKE?”

You ignore Sammy’s comment and continue in to Alex, “And for your information, I caught up with Michael - ”

Alex and Sammy immediately sit up straight, interest piqued – if in a bit morbid way. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” Alex compliments. “Did you talk to him?”

“Did he put a restraining order on you?”

“Did you apologize, or did you botch it up before you had his attention?”

“Please tell me you thought out your speech before you got there.”

“Was he still upset?”

“I think you seriously scared him off last time.”

“Did he even give you a chance? Or is that why you’re back so soon?”

“How the hell did you sneak passed security, anyways?”

“GUYS!” you burst. “We just talked. And yes, I apologized and we ended up getting along just fine.” Your head hurts already from the barrage of questions. Maybe a shot of bourbon will take the edge off. As you move to act on the thought, both of your friends pull you back down to sit between them. Just for good measure (because he can be that much of an annoying brat) Sammy locks a leg over your lap, cutting off all chances of escape.

“What do you mean ‘just talked’? There’s never ‘just talking’ with you. What did you do?”

“Nothing!” you insist. “We went to a coffee house, had hot cocoa with cookies - ”

“ – Cocoa?”

“ – Cookies?”

You ignore them both and continue, “Then we went back to his suite to have a glass of wine - ”

“ – Oooh! Spicy!”

“’ – Just A glass’?”

“And we just TALKED!”

“Talked about WHAT exactly?” Sammy demands. “You don’t ‘talk’ to people.” He reaches up to feel your forehead. You slap his hand away. “You feeling okay?”

Alex stares at you with a calculated expression, “Hmm. She DOES look a little pale to me.”

“And have you lost weight?”

“Since when do you drink wine, anyway?”

“OKAY, mom and dad!” you exclaim. “I think I’ve taken all the fussing I can handle for one day!” you shove your way out from under your two friends and head to your bedroom, where your roman tub awaits you in the adjoining bathroom with a big bottle of bubble bath and bath beads.

“Hey, you smell that?” Alex not so discreetly asks Sammy.

“Yeah. It smells like…Old Spice?”

They both turn back to you as you go. Alex has a shit-eating grin on his agape mouth, “******! Either you’ve developed a sudden, unexplained taste for masculine aromas, or our little girl has become a woman!”

You bound back. You feel the prominent heat in your cheeks, “Neither! Michael must have been wearing it last night!”

“OHH! So you two got a little cozy…”

“Shut up, you dick-smoker! I just fell asleep in his room - ”

“That’s no way to talk to your daddy….”

“As a straight male,” Sammy adds, both of you disregarding Alex’s comment. “Is it unusual for me to be jealous?” then something seems to click. He turn sharply to Alex, “Why the hell am I the mother?”

“Because I don’t catch unless the guy can pitch circles around me. Well,” he peeks down at an angle, obviously giving Sammy’s rear a quick once-over. “Maybe with a little practice…” with a Cheshire grin, Alex licks is middle finger before laying it on his crotch, making a ‘hiss’ sound on contact.

SMACK!

You roll your eyes at your friends’ antics, “Okay, lovebirds. I’m going to take a long, hot bath and then pass out. Feel free to see yourselves out by the time I wake up.”

As you sink into the hot, bubbly water, you find yourself mulling over your friends’ comments. You smell your shoulder and you note with interest that you do smell a little like the cologne you found on the note. ‘Well,’ you think to yourself. ‘I DID sleep in his bed…’ You then mentally slap yourself. Yeah, dream on. Don’t turn into one of those fanatics/groupie-wanna-be’s. You made a friend. A real one, you hope.

 

But you DO enjoy the notion of smelling like him…

 

You let a tiny smile grace your lips before closing your eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many meetings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm back!! Sorry this took me so long; life caught up with me, unfortunately. Hope you ladies are still with me! :D I know you've been waiting for chapter eight... Well, here it is! Hope you have fun!
> 
> BTW, I should probably point this out before I cause any confusion: this story is based around the 'Dangerous Era', but is taking place in modern day. I hope I haven't annoyed anyone or driven anyone away because of this - but i promise it makes the story work. Trust me.
> 
> Also, many thanks to Lilly_loves _you and ale for your support and comments! I appreciate you ladies! Enjoy.

Chapter Eight

 

Well, life returns to relative normalcy after the weekend (your weekend, anyway) ends. You are back on a fairly regular schedule again and ticket sales are still holding their own. You feel slightly lighter than you have in the past year. Ever since that cocoa night in Munich you feel…at ease. Eh, sugar. What are you going to do?

After about a month, you begin to hear scattered words about Michael Jackson’s upcoming new album. The fan in you is all over it, of course. (And Sammy doesn’t bother holding back his excitement either.) The side of you that got to know Michael for a night is warmed. He’s doing his thing. He’s making people around the world smile. Hopefully he’s enjoying what he can of it, too.

It’s creeping up on the second month when you return to your dressing room after the first show of the night to find a small envelope sitting on your dresser. It’s plain and off-white, but what you notice right away is the unmistakable handwriting. You practically dive for it. Inside is a note card, folded in half. You grin to yourself at the faint scent of cologne over your name before opening it.

 

Album is coming along! How are you doing? Staying out of trouble, I hope? ;) As for me, I’ve been running all over the place. Sleep is hard to come by, even when I have time. So many things are happening right now – it’s hard to keep up! But it’s all very exciting. I guess it’s a good thing I’m keeping busy; I’d probably go insane otherwise!

How’s your show? Any other famous faces drop in? ;) I hope they got a more standard welcome! I’m just teasing you, girl. If you greet everybody about the same as me, you’d have even more funny stories to share, I’ll bet. So, go ahead and be sure to catalogue them for me. I’d love to hear about it!

Oh! Which reminds me. The Fourth of July is coming up soon. There’s going to be a huge festival in San Francisco for that whole weekend. Lots of entertainers are coming out to perform for charity. (And they’ll be lots of games and art displays, and so many neat things to do!) Any possibility you and your friends will turn out? I will be helping to raise donations for the Make-A-Wish foundation and my new charity called ‘Heal the World’. I would appreciate the support! (Or even if you guys just offer me some company – that would be enough for me.) It would be nice to have someone to talk to who isn’t fawning all over me…

Oh, darn it! There I go rambling again! I’m so embarrassed. Don’t mind me. I’ll let you get back to your day. (I just hope this reaches you.) I hope you’re doing well and I look forward to seeing you guys! Take care!

 

-Tinkerbell

 

When you finish reading, your cheeks hurt. You then realize it’s because you’re smiling so wide. Quintessential Michael: Help as many people as possible. Have as much fun as you can while you’re at it. It must be nice to not be bitter at the rest of the world. You wish you knew what he secret is…

Gently, you lay the note on top of its envelope on your dresser. Your fingers trace the elegant penmanship on the front. Well, at least he’s got a big enough heart for you both. As this thought runs through your head, you feel another presence just inches away. You look up and see your own, gruesome reflection. Your brow dips just a bit as you try not to scowl. Michael is too kind a person to see the true wretchedness that lives under your skin. You can only hope he doesn’t have to.

Your dressing room door clicks open. Right on cue, Sammy slips in, carrying the two ceremonial shot glasses. A whole new wave of self-loathing envelops you. This is what you’ve been reduced to: a sad, pathetic remains of life barely managing to hold shape, the blissful burn of whiskey the only glue to hold it all together. Your gaze drops back down to the note under your hands. You slip it into your top drawer before Sammy catches sight of it.

“How you holding up, punk?”

“Still standing,” you reply as you turn away from the mirror. “How’s everything out there?”

“Setting up for the late show. Same as always,” he hands you your glass and takes a seat on your make-up desk in front of the mirror. Good ol’ Sammy. He knows how to keep the beast at bay.

You try not to look at him too long, though; he still hasn’t changed out of the make-up from the first show and he looks eerily too much like Michael to bear. (Though, of course you know that the image of the real Michael knocking back a shot of Jack Daniels is out-of-character enough to shatter the illusion.) He seems to notice you haven’t downed your shot yet – instead tracing your finger around the rim as you stare blankly into the amber liquid. Sammy nudges your knee. When you meet his eyes, they are pitying – and worried.

“You okay?” he asks. “Not thinking too much, I hope.”

The corners of your mouth turn upward just slightly. Michael’s right: you DO have a couple of good friends behind you. And they DO do their best to take care of you. You look back up to meet Sammy’s eyes. Your tiny smile morphs into more of a playful smirk as you lightly punch your friend’s shoulder, “What’s our schedule for the Fourth of July?”

 

 

Okay, Michael sure has a twisted idea of fun, if he thinks THIS is the event of the year!

You’re not sure which is noisier: Alex’s parties or the mix of BlackCats, firecrackers, and dozens of children running around screaming in delight. You have to keep a tight reign on trying not to clamp your hands over your ears. There’s a reason you rarely go out in public, dammit! THIS is one of them!

It’s hard to keep the grimace off your face as the tension in your temples builds. There are so many sparklers and their young wielders running about. The many flashy lights are making you dizzy. And who the hell hired that high school marching band and forgot the conductor?

“Who’s idea was this?” you demand to your two friends, trying not to lose them as you all move through the crowds. You are trying to find the stage, where Michael will supposedly be performing. Hopefully you can make it there in one piece.

“Yours,” they answer simultaneously.

“Well, why the hell did you let me talk you into this?” you suddenly stumble as you try to avoid stepping on a couple of eight-year-olds running passed. Sammy reaches out just in time to steady you.

“You didn’t exactly give us much of a choice,” he retorts. “What was the exact verbiage she used, Alex?”

“I think it was, ‘Clear all the shows for the weekend, or else I’ll castrate you both and shove them so far up your asses you will be able to taste them.’ Not that I would be very opposed of that threat… Now if only you could switch whose goes where…it just might give Sammy the education he needs to –”

SMACK!

“Besides,” Sammy interjects before Alex can take that statement any further. “It’s not like you had to threaten ME. I’m just sorry I didn’t hear about this sooner.”

“You mean you actually LIKE all the chaos and noise?” it’s hardly a surprise you have to yell to make sure they hear you.

“Don’t be stupid; I wouldn’t be caught dead in this kind of madhouse. But I haven’t missed a live performance from MJ yet and I’m not about to tarnish my spotless record.”

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re such a fanboy.”

“Look who’s talking, Miss Old Spice.”

You elbow your best friend hard in the ribs, “That was a one-time thing, you brat. A complete coincidence! Don’t expect it to happen again!”

“Then we’ll remind Michael to switch cologne scents,” too bad Alex is too far away for you to smack him as well. There’s a reason you never take these two anywhere.

By the time the stage is in sight, you’re fidgety as hell and you can’t take it anymore. All the noise and elbow-to-elbow clutter is beginning to make you very claustrophobic. Yes, you came to see Michael, but you’re not sure you can take the intense disarray. You have to get some space. You need air. You need…God, you need a drink.

“I’m sorry, guys,” you say to Sammy and Alex, pulling their attention away from the stage and the continuous chants of various artists’ names. “I can’t stay here.”

They both gape at you, appalled.

“What?”

“But the show’s about to start!”

“You might not get your place back!”

“I sure as hell am not leaving ‘til I see Mike!”

“You dragged us all the way out here and now you’re not even going to watch??”

“I’m sorry,” you insist again. You can barely hear yourself over the entire racket. “I can’t take this. I’m gonna pass out if I don’t get away.”

“But Michael’s performing! Live!” Sammy is obviously incredulous. “You’re gonna miss it! Can’t you hold out for a little longer?”

“I can’t stay here,” it’s true; you’re barely keeping from hyperventilating. “I’m gonna have to watch from the back.”

“You mean from the bar?”

You level Alex’s deadpan expression with one of your own, “I’ll meet up with you guys after the show.”

You take off before either one can stop you. Their calls follow you as you go, making the guilt on your shoulders ever heavier. But this can’t be helped. You would not survive that environment.

\-----

“Dammit to hell…” Sammy muttered as his friend disappeared into the crowd. He turned back around to Alex’s direction, who was staring hard at him. Almost…accusatory. “What the hell you looking at me like that for? You’re acting like this is all my fault!”

“You’ve been sneaking her shots again, haven’t you?”

Sammy suddenly felt uneasy. Well, might as well go hunting before Alex has a chance to tear him a new one…and not in the fun way, “Not now…”

“This is serious, Samuel!” uh-oh. Alex never called him by his full name unless he’s really, REALLY upset. Sammy repressed a shudder and began working his way through the crowd, Alex on his heels. “She’s got a PROBLEM! And you’re feeding it!”

“Don’t judge me, alright?” he snapped back over his shoulder. “You barely know the half of what she’s going through! I’m trying to help!”

“By helping her drink herself to an early grave? What kind of a friend ARE you?”

“Don’t even fucking go there! Would you rather her smoking crack or cutting herself?” he didn’t even want to picture that scenario. Yes, things could be worse. A lot worse.

“This is hardly better! Face it, Sammy – she’s an alcoholic! And what happened to the supposed ‘talk’ we ended up avoiding – again?”

“It’s called damage-control. I would have done the same thing if – ”

Sammy was so caught up in not looking where he was going in order to defend himself that he didn’t see the figure in his path until it was too late. Almost as quickly as he made it around one of the game booths, he was flat on his ass in the dirt, staring across from him at a casually-dressed man wearing a denim jacket, a cap and a red-white-and-blue Colombina mask – richly decorated and drawing attention away from the person’s identity. Sammy immediately picked himself up and helped Alex pull the man to his feet.

“Hey sorry, man. I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright,” the quiet voice replied. “It was an accident.

“No, man. That’s my bad. It’s just hard to see where you’re going in this – Holy crap! Michael!”

“Shhh!” the figure shushed harshly, glancing all around him to make sure no one noticed him.

“What are you doing here?” Alex inquired, just as bewildered as Sammy. He immediately began brushing Michael’s clothes off.

“Dressed like THAT?” added Sammy, following Alex’s example.

“I just wanted to look around for a bit before I have to get ready for the show. But I didn’t want to be recognized.”

“Good luck with a mask like that,” Alex sniggered. He fingered the material for a second. Even he had to admit it was impressive. “How much attention did you draw to yourself so far?”

Michael swatted his hand away, “None, for your information,” he laughed. “There’s a whole bunch of people wearing them over in the circus ring. I fit right in!”

Sammy cocked an eyebrow, tongue in his cheek as he looked at the ground, then back up at Michael, “In penny loafers? With VERY visible sparkly socks?”

“Don’t draw attention to it! Besides, it’s holiday spirit! I have to fit the theme.”

“Well, at least someone’s having a good time…” Alex huffed under his breath, but both men heard him. Sammy shot him a pinched glare. Michael glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“You mean you’re not? Isn’t this place great?”

“Ehh…”

“It would be if we weren’t so caught up babysitting.”

“Alex, shut up!”

“You’re not exactly innocent in this, you know!”

Michael jumped between them, ready to pull the two men off of each other, if the need arose, “Guys, guys! Settle down. I would REALLY appreciate it if you didn’t cause a scene while I’m standing next to you.” Both Alex and Sammy piped down – and even had the good grace to look guilty – but still held their scowls at each other. “Is something wrong?”

“Take a guess. I dare you,” Alex replied, and not without a bit of venom.

“Alex…” Sammy growled through gritted teeth.

Michael glanced between them again. Then something in his head flipped a switch. “Where’s ******?” when he received no answer, his shoulders sagged and he hoped his hypothesis wasn’t correct. “She’s not…is she?”

Sammy quickly spoke up before Alex had the chance, “It’s not as bad as it sounds, honest. She’s just having a rough time. She doesn’t like crowds much.”

“Or sobriety.”

“Will you shut up!” Sammy snapped again, smacking Alex on the arm. Michael, meanwhile, let out an exasperated breath, clearly disappointed. Chipper mood deflated, he began to yank the ties on his mask free, removing it with a sigh. Sammy gave Alex yet another smack. “Great. Way to ruin the guy’s night. Happy now?”

“Better to warn him first before he gets caught up in another fiasco.”

“She just left! And I’m pretty sure she knows better than to get wasted in a crowd full of strangers.”

“Drunks don’t think logically.”

“Stop calling her that! She’s NOT a drunk!”

“Then what’s your word for it?”

“She’s stressed, okay?”

“It was her idea to come here!”

“No, it was mine!” Michael interjected again, worried that this argument would turn into something a bit more dramatic. Sammy and Alex stared at him, surprised. “I invited her. And you guys. I thought this would be fun – a nice way to get away and relax. I didn’t realize it was going to cause problems…”

“YOU’RE not the problem here, Michael,” Alex assured. “She’s the one with the problem. She can’t handle just simply socializing without a little liquid crutch.”

“She’s trying!” Sammy defended. “She came out here, didn’t she? That’s more than we’ve seen from her since our first tour!”

“Stop protecting her! She’s a manic depressive with a problem, and YOU’RE an enabler!”

“And YOU’RE an unsympathetic, ignorant, intolerant, standoffish, sexually-destitute, judgmental, holier-than-thou dickhead!”

“Who are you calling ‘sexually-destitute?”

“STOP IT!”

Both men jumped and returned their attentions to Michael, startled. The aforementioned rubbed his temples, willing away the stress headache that was itching to creep up on him. This was NOT what he had in mind for the evening. "Where'd she go? Maybe I can talk to her."

“Don’t waste your energy, Michael,” Alex reprimanded. “It’s not worth it. You have more important things to worry about.”

Michael gaped at him, almost offended, “You don’t think making sure that your friend is alright is important?”

“I’ve been through this way too many times to count. So has HE, even though he won’t admit it,” he pointed at Sammy, who opened his mouth to angrily retort, but continued before the younger man had a chance. “It’s just a waste of time. When ****** decides to grow up and wear her big-girl panties, then maybe she’ll become more of a priority.”

“You’re a heartless asshole, you know that?”

Michael cut in once again, “Be that as it may, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her out here by herself. Obviously, something’s bothering her. I think I can help.”

Alex grabbed his arm before he could head out on his search, “Don’t be irrational, Mike. You have a performance to do; you aren’t gonna have enough time to find her, talk to her, and get her out of her headspace before you have to get ready and perform. Trust me, there ARE more important things.”

“But – ” Michael stopped. Then his eyes squinted just a little. He turned back and looked at Sammy, then back at Alex. Both men could see the wheels turning in his head. He turned to Sammy again, his lip trapped in his teeth, “Sammy, you know my style better than anyone…”

“Yeah. And?”

“You look almost identical when you’re in costume…”

“So?” Michael surveyed him head to toe. He looked down at himself, and finally back at Sammy. He raised his eyebrows, intent message in his eyes. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in Sammy’s head. “You mean you want…a-are you sure? You trust me enough to do that?”

“I’ve seen your work, Sammy. You impressed the hell out of ME. You could do it.”

“But I…” Sammy’s eyes had doubled in size. He hadn’t had stage fright in years, but now would be best described as a full and complete relapse. 

Michael smiled, clapping the impersonator’s shoulder, “You got this. Trust me.”

Chapter End Notes:  
Here we go! This should be interesting, to say the least. Michael is just too caring for his own good, you know? Lol but that's why we love him! See you guys real soon! I hope you all are having fun! Take care. Loves! Xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! I'm very glad you all enjoyed chapter eight. Things will be getting fun soon. Hope you all like what's coming. Can't wait to share with you the craziness that follows. And many thanks to my commenters and to those who left kudos. Remember, feedback=love=motivation=UPDATES! Lol enjoy everyone! <3

Chapter Nine

 

 

You can’t remember the last time your self-hatred had reached this level. It never really goes away, but you’re sure that this is a new low…

 

Tequila isn’t a particular favorite of yours. Unfortunately, it’s hard to find good whiskey at a FAMILY event. Maybe it’s a good thing they don’t put someone like you in charge. Hell, it’s a good thing NO ONE puts you in charge. You sure wouldn’t trust yourself to handle anything – especially in this state of mind.

 

What exactly is bothering you? You’re not entirely sure yourself. You do know you certainly have been excited about this festival (which is very out-of-character for you) ever since you received Michael’s last package. Though if someone asked you WHY you’ve been looking forward to it, you can’t answer that either. You just don’t go out, honestly. Unlike Sammy, you’ve always preferred to enjoy social events – including any concerts of Michael’s – in blissful solitude. Had it been anyone else who’d extended an invitation, you most likely would have feigned interest and made a promise to “try” to make it, and then something unavoidable would have come up, forcing you to have to back out last minute with a perfectly understandable explanation. Come to think of it, short of your two friends, you can’t imagine flying across the globe every night for two weeks just to talk to someone. ‘Damn you, Michael,’ you think to yourself in irritation. ‘What are you doing to me?’

 

You scowl into your glass before lifting it to your lips again. The burn makes you minutely grimace, yet it’s a welcome sensation. It’s a good distraction when you don’t want to think about anything.

 

Some familiar music kicks off somewhere in the distance behind you. You feel your shoulders slump just a little lower, your weight pressing into the bar a bit more. To tell the truth, you really DO want to be in the middle of that screaming crowd, high with enthusiasm and exhilaration. You want to be singing along with every word you don’t even have to think about to remember, trying to control your feet from mimicking the dance steps to a tee. You want to watch the master at work, in the flesh. Just once, you want to be like everyone else – to just enjoy the moment without any plaguing toxic thoughts.

 

You weren’t lying, when you said you had to get out of there, though. The last time you felt that overwhelmed was as Hugh Hefner’s cocktail party three years ago, when some prick and tried to rouffie you. All the noise, clutter, and madness were just a little TOO much of a likeness to handle. If you had stayed any longer, surely you would be on your way to the emergency room – and it’s just NOT good for your image to be passing out at a charity fund-raiser.

 

On that note, if you planned on having more than just the one drink, you should probably hail a cab back to the hotel before you pass the point of incoherency. Losing consciousness at Alex’s party – surrounded by familiar and unconcerned faces – is one thing. It’s another entirely when it’s in the middle of a very public event. Sure you may have skewed priorities, but you’re not stupid. Who knows which one of these VIP admitted could be carrying a notepad and voice recorder, standing by to find the absolute PERFECT dirt story? Not that it matters; no one has really gotten anything on you worth printing. The perks of being a recluse.

 

You knock back the last gulp of the gold liquid before promptly ordering another. Fuck the world. You don’t need anybody. This is your life. You’re going to do with it what you will. What you do on your downtime is your business.

 

“You can’t be that bored, can you?”

 

You jump at the sound of a laughing voice erupting behind you. Before you can find the source, an almost-gaudy mask and a red baseball cap appear next to you, the smile underneath unmistakable. You jerk your gaze back to the stage in the distance. There, you see a lithe figure in a black jacket, matching fedora, and VERY visual socks. You blink, and then look back at the figure next to you. What the hell did they put in your drink? You take a sniff. The smell is almost as pungent as its taste, but you can detect nothing foreign.

 

Your joiner laughs and sets your glass down for you, “I don’t think that’s how it’s meant to be consumed.”

 

“Ha-ha,” you retort grumpily. “Now, either I’m seeing double, or you pulled a fast one…or you’re not here at all.”

 

Michael looks down at himself. He fingers his shirt, and then returns his attention to you, “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m here. And I doubt you’ve had time to drink enough for you to see double. And yes, I did pull a fast one.”

 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, maybe you should stay far away from me; you’re picking up bad habits.” Wow, you are definitely in the running for Most Dramatic Performance.

 

Michael laughs loudly. It’s musical… no pun intended. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been pulling stuff like this since I could walk.” You shake your head with a smile and take another drink. You don’t look at him, but you know Michael is watching you. You don’t want to guess what expression he’s wearing. “Besides,” he adds once you put your glass back down again. “I like hanging around you. You make my life interesting.”

 

A tremor runs through your stomach at his words. You’re not sure where it came from, though. After you regain your composure, you turn to him again, cocky smirk perfectly in place, “Is that an invitation?”

 

“Well…there IS this cake-walk over by the carnival…and since I no longer have a performance to attend…” he grins at you, tongue in his cheek. A laugh erupts from the pit of your belly.

 

“Oh, no you don’t, Gloppy. I think I’ve had enough cake wars with you to last a lifetime.”

 

“They were COOKIE wars, if I remember correctly, and who the heck is Gloppy?”

 

Your jaw drops. No way did he just say that. Who the hell didn’t know Gloppy the Molasses Monster? “Don’t you ever play Candyland?”

 

“Ooh, that sounds fun! We can do that instead!” you smack your palm against your face, but laugh nonetheless. Poor thing; he IS that clueless. Why have you been so hard on him again? Michael is smiling wide under his mask. He looks like a court jester… Well, he made you laugh… “Okay, how about a snow cone?”

 

You take your hand away and look at him again. God, that mask is so ridiculous! “You sure you wanna be seen in public with me?”

 

Michael gives you a shrug, “Well, you haven’t been banned from the public yet, have you?”

 

“No,” you chuckle. “Just South Korea.”

 

“What did you do to upset them, anyways?”

 

“Let’s save that story til we have something to keep us from going hungry.”

 

“So…snow cones are a go?”

 

Cute. Well, why not? It’s not like you’re having an overload of fun here, “First one there buys.”

 

“Deal,” Michael beams.

 

“It’s settled then,” you confirm. Just for good measure, you pluck one of the obnoxious feathers from the top of his mask. He laughs again. It’s such a nice sound.

 

“Hey!”

 

You tap his nose with it, “Snow cones on go, then. Readysetgo!”

 

You leap off your stool and zing away from the bar before he even has time to comprehend with just happened. It’s at least five seconds before he follows you, “You cheater! No fair!”

 

You can’t breathe, you’re laughing so hard.

 

 

 

 

Alex held back at the rear entrance, just as Michael had instructed him to. Sammy’s performance was over fifteen minutes ago. Where the hell was he?

 

Alex was just a tad bit surprised at how much his reputation succeeded him even after Michael had left him with his crew. Sure, Michael had instructed them all that he was a dear friend and anywhere Mr. Alexander decided to roam, he had free access to. Even after all that, so many others – grips, stage hands, band members, and even a few other artists – had approached him, starry-eyed and all. He couldn’t help feeling a bit smug at that; he supposed it doesn’t hurt to be a former racecar-driver/ballroom-dancer/magician/club-owner/now-talent-manager.

 

The back door suddenly burst open. The Michael-look-alike practically fell out, barely catching himself on his feet, hands on his knees. It was hard to tell if his face was flushed from the heavy panting due to the heavy make-up.

 

“Hi, honey,” Alex cheekily greeted. He moved to help Sammy straighten up “Rough day at the office?”

 

“Those people are flippin’ nuts!” Sammy gasped. “If that chick would have held on any longer, she would have torn my wig off!”

 

“Oh, you mean Melons?” Alex was referring to the VERY big-breasted girl in a VERY tiny tank top who’d managed to climb up on-stage during Sammy’s set of ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’ and had jumped on him. He went along with it at first, of course, as Michael would have. But when security had come to pull the girl off of him, naturally, she had refused to let go. Alex’s first concern when he had seen what was happening was that she would strangle poor Sammy. He turned out fine, obviously, but he’d just about lost his clothes in the process. And apparently, his hair.

 

“I wanna know Mike’s secret!” Sammy huffed as he righted his jacket and made sure his make-up was still intact. “How the hell does he not get killed every time he holds a concert!”

 

“Easy,” supplied Alex with an obnoxiously huge, innocent grin. “Impersonators. They’re a dime a dozen!”

 

Oh, HELL no.

 

WHACK!!

 

Okay, that one really hurt. Alex berated himself for not ducking in time before Sammy's hand connected rather fiercely with the back of his head.

 

“Where is Mr. Irresistible, anyways?”

 

“Beats the hell out of me,” Alex replied with a grimace, rubbing his head. “Ow!”

 

Sammy gave him an unimpressed frown. It’s not easy to offend him, but…dammit, he’s not ‘just an impersonator’, “They haven’t come back yet?”

 

“With any luck, he hasn’t found her yet.”

 

Sammy scowled at him this time. Okay, so his best friend isn’t exactly the purest person on the planet. Who is? He himself had his fair share of depression bouts. At least she didn’t follow the same path he did… “Let’s go find ‘em before she does something stupid, like embarrass all of us. And no, she doesn’t have to drunk for that!” he added hastily. Alex rolled his eyes and followed.

 

 

 

 

“Okay, she was here alright,” Alex commented upon reaching the bar. There was a half-finished glass of gold liquid sitting on top of a pile of fabric. “She forgot her gloves.” Sammy picked them up, wringing them in his hands for no particular reason, “So, Michael’s got to be with her, otherwise he would have picked them up to bring to her.”

 

Sammy laughed lightly. “Okay, that drink must have been pretty weak if she just up and ran off without thinking.”

 

“Or, he must have had a MUCH better idea of fun,” Alex supplied, picking up the glass and bringing it up to his nose. “It’s straight.”

 

“What?” Sammy did a double-take. He grabbed for the glass. “Gimme that!” before he could even take a sniff, the smell on its own just about knocked him over. He handed it back to Alex before it made him lose his balance. “Okay,” he choked. “I have to admit, I’ve never seen that happen before.”

 

Alex had a look on his face that suggested he was thinking very hard. Sammy tried to read his expression. They both looked at the drink, back at each other, then off in the distance incase they caught sight of their friend. When they met each other’s eyes again, mutual understanding seemed to pass through the both of them.

 

Sammy cocked an eyebrow, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

 

Alex beamed huge, “Double date?”

 

SMACK!

 

“I’m talking about ****** and Michael, idiot!”

 

“What about them?” Alex pouted, indigent about being smacked twice in such close succession of one another.

 

“She left her drink! When has that ever happened? Michael’s like…a natural medicine. He’s a walking rehab!”

 

“Well, yeah. I figured that was obvious as soon as we got here. So what?”

 

“Well, we can’t just sit around, biting our nails to see what’s gonna happen! We gotta fan the flames a little, you know?”

 

“You thinking about playing Match-Maker? You think that’s such a good idea?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

 

“Not exactly Match-Maker, per se. Just make it so they spend a bit more time together. This could be good, you know. For the both of them.”

 

“Well…” Alex shrugged, contemplating. “Could be worth a shot. I’m getting a little tired of promoting a star who can barely fake a smile for the cameras…”

 

Sammy lightly slapped his arm, “Come on, Alex. I’m being serious.”

 

“So am I. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

Before Alex had a chance to answer, they were both joined by a tall, built-looking bald man and a petite, pretty little redhead, “Hey, man, we’re sorry to bother you. I know you wanna wind down and stuff,” the man greeted. “But my girl and I are huge fans. We just wanted to say what a great show you put on. You’re the greatest!”

 

Both Sammy and Alex looked around them, finding no one else in close range. Finally, Alex seemed to catch on and gave Sammy a pointed stare. Sammy caught the hint and turned back to the strangers.

 

“Tha - ” Sammy stopped to clear his throat. He then started over, in his ‘Michael voice’, “Thank you. Glad you enjoyed it.”

 

The couple beamed. The young lady looked up at her man before speaking, “We flew all the way from Virginia to see you. Can we buy you a drink? Please? You mean a lot to the both of us.”

 

“Oh, no. It’s okay, really, I - ”

 

“Please?” the man pleaded. “We promise not to bother you again.”

 

Sammy glanced back at Alex, unsure of what to do. Alex shrugged with a smirk, and then took a drink from ******’s abandoned glass. Sammy inwardly growled at him before returning his attention to the couple, “I – sure. Why not?” he discretely turned back to Alex and muttered lowly, “Hey, free drinks. I don’t wanna be rude or anything…” he grinned cheekily and his older friend rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh, my God! Michael? Is that you??”

 

Alex rapidly jumped out of the way as two young women – maybe in their early to mid twenties – practically dived towards Sammy.

 

“You’re sooo awesome!”

 

“We totally loved your show!”

 

“Are you going to be hanging around for awhile?”

 

“Can we pleeease get a picture with you?”

 

“Oh, can we have a drink with you?”

 

“Excuse us!” The bald man cut in. “We were here first! And we’re buying Michael a drink!”

 

“Oh, can we buy you a drink, too?”

 

“Anything you want! Sky’s the limit!”

 

“Okay, okay!” exclaimed Sammy, barely remembering to keep his voice in character. “I’ve got time for everyone. Just don’t cause a scene, please!” yeah, the last thing he needed was to be tied down for hours signing autographs and taking photos because he was caught in public as Michael. He never had this problem in Vegas. He soooo did not envy Michael.

 

He and ****** could wait for a while. They were probably off dilly-dallying somewhere, happy as clowns, without a care in the world. They were fine.

 

He exchanged glances with Alex and shrugged, still not sure what to do other than go along with the flow of things.

 

Besides, it’s just a couple of drinks… really, what’s the worst that could happen?

 

“Hey guys! Look!”

 

“It’s Michael Jackson! Over by the bar!”

 

“Michael! I love you!”

 

Sammy visibly tensed and his eyes grew huge. He sent a pleading look to Alex, who grinned like a Cheshire cat. Before Sammy could even figure a route of escape, a crowd – ever growing – began to engulf him. Alex obnoxiously waved overtop the mass of people.

 

“Bye, Michael! I’ll catch up with you later!” Ha! Serves him right for being so vigorously violent this evening…

 

“Wait – Alex!” Sammy almost squealed. “He-e-e-elp!”

 

“Sorry, ‘Michael’, but I have a date…”

 

“Wha – no, you don’t!”

 

“I will by the time I reach the other end of the bar. Have fun!” with a saucy wave, Alex was gone.

 

If Sammy came out of this alive, he was soooo going to kill somebody!

 

Preferably Alex. Nah, Michael.

 

Nah.

 

Both!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again!
> 
> First of all, many MANY thanks to my commenters - and so quickly! WOW! You have no idea how much they mean to me. They sure keep me going. As thanks, here's a speedy update. I appreciate everyone who supports this story. <3
> 
> I should warn that there is a bit of silliness ahead. I hope you all have fun!

Chapter Ten

 

The sky is just beginning to pale behind you by the time you realize just how long you’ve been out.

It’s easy to lose track of time at Pier 39. The resident seals never seem to rest! For hours, you and Michael had watched and giggled as seals of all sizes leaped, barked, and played with each other. You’re pretty sure a good portion of them had names by the time the huge stick of cotton candy you shared was completely consumed.

It’s amazing, being in a town that wasn’t 24/7 like Vegas, how you managed to keep occupied all night. Before midnight, it’s relatively easy. Luckily, the snow cone stand by the Pier stayed open late, due to the holiday festivities (which, thank God, you managed to stay far away from). After about your third or forth lime-flavored ice-treat, you could have easily bet that your teeth would probably never be white again. But, hey, at least Michael sure looked adorable with a blue smile.

It was a good thing you loaded up on Salt-Water Taffies and cotton candy before shop began shutting down; without the perpetual sugar-highs, you probably wouldn’t have managed to stay so alert all night long.

You weren’t obnoxious all night, though. Before your midnight escapades, Michael took you to a place called Gaylord’s, a high-end Indian restaurant for dinner. It was a nice place, and the food smelled great upon first entrance. It was fairly comical when you both walked in and told the hostess that you wanted a table for two (so hungry that you didn’t care if they sat you on a bench in the lounge), and boy did they give you a table for two.

At least it was secluded, Michael had commented when they sat you in a far corner. It was a cute, cozy little table (literally; little) up against the massive window looking out over the San Francisco Bay. You sat in awe for several minutes, admiring the view of the Golden Gate Bridge. The fireworks going off overhead made the view that much more majestic. Michael had to remind you all three times the waiter came by to pick your order before you both starved to death.

Finally, you settled on splitting the vegetarian sampler. It was very tasty, and better yet, it left plenty of room for dessert – which explains your haunt for nearly the entire night.

Back and forth, sitting on the edge of the pier and munching on candy, you exchanged stories of your various adventures throughout your careers as the marvelous firework show continued above you. By the time dawn starts to break, Michael is particularly enthralled when you begin telling the story of the Tide Down stunt you performed here two years ago.

It was during one of your two annual tv specials in which you attempted to drive a jet ski from Pier 39, under Oakland Bay Bridge, around Treasure Island, continued to circle around Alcatraz, and back to Pier 39, all the while dodging container ships and dinghies – blindfolded.

“I swear, these damn yuppies with their fancy $250,000 yachts just do NOT have any business being out there!”

“Why’s that?” Michael asks, wide-eyed already.

“What viewers didn’t see on tv was when a couple of morons tried to wander close to take a picture of me or something while I was between Treasure Island and Alcatraz. Those oversized hotels-on-water kind of create makeshift waves. And I couldn’t see, so I was judging my path based on the feel of the water. Then, all the sudden out of nowhere, I about get thrown off my ride because the yacht’s literally a few feet from me.” Michael gasps and covers his mouth. “I managed to stay on and veer away from it, but those idiots just kept following me! My crew had to halt the shoot and I had to start to the stunt all over again!”

“You mean they basically chased you on the water?!”

You try to give a nonchalant shrug, “Well, dodging obstacles was part of the challenge, but what they did was interference! Obviously I was okay and everything, but that could have turned into a real disaster!”

“I’ll say,” Michael agrees. “Aren’t there sharks in the bay?”

“A few. So getting knocked into the water was NOT on my to-do list that day. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.”

“It wasn’t?” Michael repeats incredulously. You try not to giggle at how cute his wide-eyed, blue-mouthed, little-kid expression looks. He munches on his cotton candy avidly, waiting for you to continue your story. “What could be worse than that?”

“Well, for starters, it had started to rain – hard. At first, it wasn’t that bad; I mean, the rain was actually warmer than the water. But when I started to hear thunder, that’s when I honestly started to get a little nervous.”

“You mean lightening?” he nearly shrieked. “That’s dangerous.”

You chuckle a bit, “Well, driving a jet ski blinded through the tides around Alcatraz even on a perfect day is dangerous. The currents are downright brutal. You know that no one ever escaped that island alive?”

Michael appears fascinated, if a bit appalled, “Why do you do these things?”

“Why not?”

“You could get killed!”

“I haven’t yet.”

“Don’t you ever worry when you go out and do something like that?”

“It doesn’t really occur to me, I guess.”

Michael gapes for a second. He obviously can’t believe what you’re saying, “Just what exactly does it accomplish? What’s the point?”

You guiltily shrug, “Just to do it, I guess. It’s a rush. Very…freeing.”

“Risking your life for the sake of entertainment?”

“What do you think circus is?”

“Well…those people train for nearly their whole lives to do things like that!”

“I train insanely hard for months before each stunt. I’m not an idiot; I know what I’m doing when I go out there…” Michael seems to have lost his appetite. He sets his cotton candy down between you, suddenly looking a bit green as he stares out at the swimming seals below you. You feel a little bad. You touch his arm gently, intent on fixing the damage you caused, “It’s not as bad as it seems, honest. It’s…sort of therapeutic, that’s all.”

Michael frowns deeply at you, “What do you mean ‘therapeutic’? Playing with death?”

You cast your eyes downward for a moment. You’re not sure how to answer that without scaring him off. Going off and performing pointless, dangerous stunts is good for exposure, yes. And is a great crowd-pleaser. And hell of a great marketing tactic. Entertainers back in Vegas jump up and down over playing a room full of 10,000 audience members, while well over 100,000 people from all over the world travel so far just to watch you possibly get killed. You’re certain there’s no rush in the world more potent than that. What’s more, it really doesn’t bother you however which way the circumstances turn out…

“I’m getting kind of tired of candy,” you say suddenly, your tone light again. “How about we go grab some real breakfast?”

“I – uh – huh?”

Good, you’ve thrown him off. Quickly you jump to your feet, grateful for the distraction, “Come to think of it, we kind of abandoned Sammy and Alex last night. We should make it up to them. Let’s treat ‘em to breakfast! I really don’t feel like getting the cold shoulder all weekend!” you take off before Michael can give an answer. You don’t want to give him time to decline.

 

 

Okay, the sun definitely shouldn’t have any right to shine so brightly in the morning! What is it? Six o’clock? Five-thirty? Ugh, why didn’t he live in Alaska?

Sammy groggily covered his eyes with his hand, already grumpy at the rude awakening. Why didn’t he remember to shut the curtains before going to bed? He thought about getting up to rectify the problem, but his body was still too heavy for him to lift, so he settled on just turning away from the blinding light. He heard himself softly snoring again before he even dropped back off…

Wait a minute…

Sammy blearily opened one eye. Then shot the other one open at what he saw.

Okay, what is that much blonde hair doing on his pillow? And what the hell smells like an interesting combination of petunias and beer? And since when did he snore? He knew he should just stop right now and pass the fuck back out. For once, he decided not to listen to his gut. Idiot. With much effort, he pushed himself up onto one elbow. Ooowwww! Sunlight. Head. Hurt.

Suddenly realizing that the mirrored aviators he’d worn from the night’s performance were (barely) still on his face, he righted them to sit properly. Not that it helped his distorted vision much. Apparently, it couldn’t decide whether to see in either tinted or clear vision.

He couldn’t see much more than the mass of golden locks under the thick comforter. With a barely-coordinated hand, he reached over and pulled the covers back just a bit.

Oh HELL no!

How the hell did one of the girls from last night end up in his bed? In just a bra? Adrenaline that wasn’t there seconds prior suddenly surged tenfold through Sammy. With a jump, he moved to scramble away. As he backed up, however, he hit another lump of solid. He turned over to see Blondie’s little friend, with a lot less cover-up! Okay, Sammy was sure his heart was palpitating to the point of bursting at this point. He slithered out of the bed through the bottom; that being his only possible escape route. He knew he shouldn’t have looked back once he tumbled to the floor. Stupid-ass, hung-over him, he looked anyway.

Maybe seeing two half-naked women subconsciously cuddle closer in their sleep should have turned him on and wonder why the hell he leapt away in the first place, but in all honesty, he actually felt a little sick. What exactly happened last night? …And how many times did it happen? At least he himself still had mostly all his clothes on. He was pretty sure, anyways…

Regardless, Michael was going to kill him.

He found the fedora over by the tv set - with a black-and-white pair of panties slung over it. Gross! And the glove was on the chair by the window (under a lacy red thong. Yecch!). One shoe was under the bed and the other was sticking out of one of the handbags thrown by the bathroom. He didn’t want to know…

And those Spongebob boxers on the bedpost were sooooo not his! Honest!

Straightening himself up as best and quietly as he could, Sammy bolted from the bedroom. Instantly, he wished he would have just stayed in bed and knocked himself back unconscious…

Seriously, did some kind of groupie orgy take place that he didn’t remember?! There must have been half a dozen people in the sitting area alone! Empty beer bottles, random articles of clothing tossed carelessly about – and that smell was going to make him sick for a week! Thank God they were all still asleep, he mused as he tiptoed his way to the door.

The sound of a toilet flushing made him jump ever so slightly. He couldn’t help being rooted in his spot for a few seconds until the person responsible exited the bathroom at the other end of the suite. In nothing but a pair of shorts, the bulky ‘guest’ smiled widely upon seeing him and greeted in a chipper, early-morning, male voice, “Good morning, Michael!”

Sammy was certain he released a rather undignified squeak as he dived out the door.

 

 

Thank God it’s still early as you and Michael make your way through the hotel; it probably wouldn’t have been a particularly fun start to the day if anyone noticed Michael Jackson sneaking in at such early hours. The sun is almost fully raised now and if you’re going to pull your friends kicking and screaming out of bed in time to make it to breakfast before the impending rush, you can’t waste any time.

Michael seems to have come out of the funk you’d unwittingly put him into. Once again, you’re chatting and giggling over something relatively absurd. You’re surprised to notice that he actually managed to hold onto his funky little mask all night, which is now sitting on his forehead. He looks like the rear end of a turkey! Of course, you probably don’t look that much more impressive (especially since, in an effort to catch up with you, Michael tripped you in the sand back at the festival and even rubbed your face in it – literally).

“They’re so not going to let me hear the end of this…” you muse as the elevator reaches the floor you’re staying on. “They’re probably wondering why the hell I dragged them all the way out here.”

“I’m sure they had a little fun of their own,” Michael helpfully supplies. “It’s a festival! And a holiday! I doubt they had time to be bored.”

“Regardless,” you retort upon reaching your suite door. “They’ll hold a grudge just for the sake of doing it.” Just as you’re about to slide the card key, the door bursts open, the world tumbles for a split second, and suddenly you’re staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling – and a very disheveled, bad knock-off version of Michael.

“Sammy!”

“Punk!”

“What were you doing in my room?”

“Where’ve you been all night?”

“Why are your sunglasses missing a lens?”

“Why is your mouth green?”

“Sammy, I think you’re crushing her,” Michael giggled from above you both. Thank you, Your Highness, for noticing the shortage of breath…

Sammy glanced back up at Michael, having just noticed his presence, “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Mister! And what the hell have you been doing? Making out with a smurf?” Michael subconsciously covers his mouth.

“Have you been making out with an entire brewery?” you shoot back as you attempt to push your friend up off your chest. “God, somebody get this boy a tic-tac!”

“Very funny,” Sammy grumbles. He picks himself up, brushing himself off and adjusting his pants. As Michael helps you to your feet, Sammy bounds on him. “Your fans are insane! You could have told me you were throwing me into a shark reef!”

“They’re just affectionate,” Michael defends. “They don’t mean any harm.”

“Tell that to the ravenous mob that about trampled me before I made it off-stage! And don’t even get me started on the ambush at the bar!”

Michael doesn’t reply at first. He looks like he’s about to answer, then stops himself, in thought. Finally, he says with absolution, “You went left instead of right when you left the stage, didn’t you?”

“I – what?”

Michael blinks. “Left,” he repeats as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You went to the left instead of the right when your show was done.”

“I – wha – the hell does that have to do with anything?!”

“Everybody knows to go to the right after a performance. That’s where security is! You obviously went left if you got ‘ambushed’,” Michael is trying to control his amusement. You are too, actually, though for different reasons. Apparently, he thought the right-vs.-left principle was common knowledge.

“Well, apparently, everybody but me!” Sammy exclaims. “You have no idea the hell I went through last night!” he continuously pokes a finger into Michael’s chest. Michael waves him away, getting nauseous at the odor.

“No offense, but could you back up, please?”

“I second that!” you add, fanning the air around your face. “Geez! What is that – Budweiser?”

“It’s Dos Equis, for you information, and I don’t think you should be talking!” wow, what a temper, you muse. (Though it’s a little tough to be intimidated when your best friend continues to fuss with his leather pants. Happy dance, anyone? Well, you sure hope he had a good time!) “Do you have any idea the lectures I had to put up with while covering for your inconsiderate ass?”

“Hey, I thought I was doing you all a favor! You don’t want to try and have fun around a non-party-goer.”

“Then stay home next time! I could have had plenty of fun without you!”

“Looks like you already did!” you throw back. You try to keep your agitated face while having to watch his conspicuous squirming. “Did you get a little kinky last night and that’s why you can’t stand up straight?”

“No! Something’s bugging me! My shorts feel weird…” finally, he manages to unbuckle his belt and ease the waistband of his pants down slightly to correct whatever the problem is. His eyes grow huge and you and Michael don’t know whether to choke or bust a gut when you see a purple, lacy material between his fingers. “The hell! Whose thong is THIS!?” Michael doubles over, gasping and trying not to laugh out loud. Your jaw drops to the floor, but there’s a tiny hint of a smirk on your face.

“Sammy!” you chide. “I know you can be a lot of things, but *Michelle* Jackson? Who are you trying to embarrass? Michael or yourself?”

“Shut UP, you little punk! I don’t know how this happened, but I guarantee you - ”

Suddenly, the door on the opposite side of the hall opens up. Out steps a groggy Alex, in just boxer shorts and socks. There’s something in his hand, but you can’t tell what it is, at first, “What’s with all the noise? It’s six in the morning! I thought Las Vegans were nocturnal.” He turns to Sammy, apparently unsurprised at his appearance. “Oh, I assume you’re looking for these.” He tosses the clump of material to him. You realize instantly that they’re Sammy’s AWOL boxers.

Immediately, Sammy shoves them behind his back. The make-up he still has on is thick, so it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing, “How’d you get these? What were you doing with them? In your room?”

“They were on my ceiling fan,” Alex replies simply. “I thought you might want them back.” The three of you gawk, unsure if you really want to know what happened the previous night. Alex then turns to you and Michael, “Oh, so you finally decided to join your people? Impressive. It only took you,” he glances at his watch, “Eleven-and-a-half hours. That’s got to be a new record for you.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t get out of this one so easily, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just needed some time alone. No harm done.”

Alex crosses his arms, “Oh really? Why don’t you tell that to Mr. Jackson here, who selflessly gave up his performance to find you and talk to you before you did anything stupid again?” Alex's word’s are like a razor-sharp knife. You flinch, feeling guilty.

Before you can speak up in your defense, Michael beats you to it, “Honestly, Alex. It’s not a big deal. I wouldn’t have done it if I minded. Besides, I got to take the night off. She practically did me a favor.”

“At whose expense!?” Sammy cut in. You all turn your attention to him, but Alex speaks up first. 

“You’re the last person I want to hear complaints from, Mr. King-Kong-of-Beer-Pong.”

You cough unattractively in attempt to disguise your guffaws. Michael covers his red face with both hands, shoulders shaking. Sammy audibly chokes, “…The hell you talking about?!”

Alex raises his eyebrows, surprised for the first time that morning, “Oh? You mean you don’t remember?” a coy smirk makes its way onto Alex’s features. He leans his cheek on one hand and licks his bottom lip. “How interesting…”

“Alex, I swear, if you don’t tell me what happened - ”

“What’s it worth to ya?”

Poor Michael had to look back at the scene just as Alex pulled his signature move of licking his finger and making it sizzle on his crotch. Michael slaps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and face pale. You groan and bury your face in your hands. Sammy…

SMACK!

 

Michael is sure to have an aneurism if he continues to hang around your friends…

Which is why, when you finally do manage to make it to breakfast, you nearly choke to death on your orange juice when Michael invites you all to Neverland…


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! 
> 
> I'm so very sorry for the wait. Life took a few unexpected twist and turns, so I decided it best to take a bit of a break and handle things in the real world for a while. I hope you all are still out there!
> 
> I must also relay my utter thanks for the kind comments on this story! I truly did not mean to keep you all waiting for as long as I did. But I very much appreciate the feedback! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the upcoming chapters! Please enjoy, my lovelies!
> 
> (Also, please excuse any errors in the text; I didn't have time to proofread, but I caught everything I could!)

Chapter Eleven

 

NO!

No – no – no –

Absolutely not!

You’ll fly to all corners of the world in a matter of days, you’ll drive a jet ski blindfolded during a thunderstorm, you’ll even streak up and down Fremont Street on a dare. But you CANNOT, WILL NOT do this!

“Oh, come on! Don’t be such a chicken!”

HA! Easy for you to say, you overzealous, smug, conniving little –

“It feels fine! Just jump in and it’ll all be over!”

Like hell it will! Stupid, ignorant, naïve –

You remain firmly rooted in your spot. You can’t do it. You won’t do it. You came this far, but this is as far as you go! Sure, the weather’s nice. Of course the temperature is perfect. In fact, it all looks pretty fucking refreshing. But none of that matters; you absolutely REFUSE to take another step closer to that pool!

It was amusing, actually, to watch Michael splash around and dive off the high board a couple of times. It WAS entertaining, in and of itself. And he was obviously having a great time. And he’s definitely a might cooler than you are at the moment in this 105-degree weather. You don’t care, though; some things are just NOT worth indulging in.

When Michael had explained the rule that whomever comes to Neverland MUST get wet in some way, shape, or form, you had expected a water balloon fight or something of that same category. Not…THIS! Well, you would have been content on the insistence if you were just able to watch Michael, Sammy, and Alex make fools of themselves while you watch on at a safe distance, but…neither of the latter two had their lazy asses up out of bed yet! And you, in your infinite wisdom, had agreed to get on with an early start to the day and go play without them until they joined the land of the living. (You had taken the smarter route the previous night in Michael’s private theater; while the boys were all for pulling an all-nighter with Disney movies, you had made yourself comfortable and zonked out at first chance.)

“You know, I think I’ll just lay out and work on my tan,” you rationalize. “Being a night-owl doesn’t give me much of a chance to be in the sun.”

Michael laughs – actually laughs – at you, “You know, you’ll tan quicker if you’re in the water. It magnifies light, you know? Sort of light a magnifying glass.”

“I…don’t think I should get my brace wet…” you begin, but you trail off, knowing how weak your argument is. You really are a dichotomy of yourself.

For some reason, you’ve gotten insanely comfortable with Michael. It’s not like you’re in a bikini or anything – just a t-shirt and capris shorts. But the fact that you’ve let your prosthetic partially show (but show, nonetheless), surprised even you. Not only that, but you had thought ahead enough to even wrap a plastic bag around the brace. Balloon fight. Yeah. That’s it. Perfect explanation.

“It’ll be fine; you know just as much as I do! Now get your stubborn butt in here! I don’t want to have all the fun myself!”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Yes, you do. You just want to be able to add taunting me to the list.”

“I’d much rather be dunking you in a game of Marco Polo.”

“It isn’t as much fun with only two people,” you retort.

“OH!” he exclaims smugly. “So you DO know the game!”

“Only enough to know that there are better things I could be doing with my time.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” you scramble through the archives of your brain for an answer. “Isn’t Neverland famous for its amusement park? I’m craving a carousel ride right about now.” Actually, you’re not. But anything’s better than that chlorine-infested abomination.

“We’re holding off on that til the guys join us,” Michael replies resolutely. “We’re just passing the time here.”

“Well, you go ahead with your time-passing, and I’ll watch until they get here.”

“That’s BORING!” he whines. “Come on, we’ll see who can do a bigger cannonball.”

“We both know it’ll be you, because of your bigger mass and more weight.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

You groan loudly in indigence. Of COURSE he played that card. What a girl… “Don’t even go there. You weigh maybe twenty pounds more than me. Besides, I’d rather not get an impact headache…”

Silence meets you for several seconds. Michael crosses his arms over his chest, pouting. You mirror his action – WITHOUT the pout. Michael screws up his face in a very kidlike scowl. You scrunch your nose at him. Two can play at this game…

“Scaredy cat.”

Oh, no he did NOT!

“Bully.”

“I’m not a bully!”

“I don’t want to get in. Simple as that.”

“It’s only water! It ain’t gonna bite you!”

“Doesn’t need to.”

“Come on, Miss Daredevil! This ain’t got nothing on a $250,000 yacht!”

“That’s different!”

“Is not!

“Is too!”

“Not!”

“Is!”

“No!”

“YES!”

“CHICKEN!”

A loud, annoyed growl erupts from your vocal cords. Fine. He wants to be ornery, then you can too. Stomping over to the edge, you dip your feet in the shallow end, on the steps. The water only comes up to your ankles, but you’re in. You sit on the edge of the pool and re-cross your arms, “There!”

“You can do better than that!” Michael taunts. You feel your eye twitch.

“I’m in! What more do you want?”

“I want you to lighten up and have a little fun!”

“I am having fun!” you put on your best glower for good measure.

Michael laughs hard again, “You’re not really gonna make me enjoy all this nice water on such a nice morning by myself, are you?”

“All yours, pal.”

He seems shocked by your answer. Finally, he makes his way over to you. At first, you move to shrink away, but stubbornly hold your ground. He does not intimidate you… And neither does that water…

“Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Why do you have to be so pushy?”

“I just want to play! Come on!” he grabs your hands and pulls. You pull back.

“No! Seriously! I’m no fun!”

“Then why do we keep hanging out? Come on; if you jump in, it isn’t even cold. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid!”

“I don’t like jumping in!”

“Then walk in!” he pulls again. Frantic, you counter once again, but your balance is slipping. “It feels great, I promise!”

“No! Michael!”

“Spoilsport! Killjoy! Sourpuss! Party-pooper!” the more he taunts, the more you get pulled towards the water. You don’t like it. You try desperately to wriggle out of his grip.

“Michael, STOP! I CAN’T SWIM!”

Silence. You don’t dare open your eyes – which you just noticed were shut tight. The grip Michael has on your hands loosens. You take advantage of the freedom and cover your face. Yes, you’re embarrassed. With good reason.

“…Really?”

Okay. Not the response you were expecting. Tentatively, you peek out from between your fingers. Michael seems genuinely surprised. And confused. You nod, answering his question.

“But…the jet ski story! Alcatraz! Thunderstorm! Yuppies chasing you with their yachts!”

“I was on top of the water then.”

“But you almost got knocked in!”

“I didn’t,” you answer simply, your face blank.

“But you could have.”

“I wasn’t going to. Wasn’t an option.”

Michael continues to stare at you for a few more moments. He searches your face, as if trying to unlock your deepest secrets with his eyes. Nice try; they’re buried too deep… “You really don’t know how?” you silently shake your head. Michael nibbles on his lower lip for a moment. Suddenly, the spark is back in is expression. He grabs your wrists, determined. Wha – didn’t he hear what you just said?! “Come on; I’ll teach you.”

“I – HUH? Wait – no, Michael – I – ”

“It’s easy!” he pulls harder than he did before. You begin to slide off your seat. Panic settles in. “And it feels like you're flying!”

“NO! Micha – STOP!” you can’t help the raw scream that lets loose from your vocal cords. It’s very out of character for you, but you’re not exactly in a calm state of mind.

You hear a huge splash. Then laughing. That JERK! You’re about to get angry, but then you realize where you’re at. Now, normally, you would have just shoved away from him and stomped off. However, you aren’t exactly in a position to do that. As much as you seriously want to SLAP Michael, you find yourself clinging to him in effort to NOT sink any further into the water than you both already are. It’s up to his shoulders now, which means you won’t be able to touch the bottom if you pushed away now.

“I hate you!”

“No, you don’t,” he laughs.

“Yes I do! I want out! Let me out!”

“You’re fine! Just calm down.”

“I’m NOT fine! I told you I couldn’t swim!”

“Listen!” he shouts and surprisingly, you clam up. Your vice-like grip doesn’t ease up, though. “I got you! Look.”

You don’t want to, but you do as he says. You’re not touching the bottom. Your arms are wrapped so tightly around his neck there are sure to be bruises. In fact, it’s a miracle you’re not strangling him. But on the flip side, his arms are locked securely around your waist. And he doesn’t seem to be struggling to support your weight. Not that it puts you at ease or anything…

“You see?” he chides playfully. “It’s not so bad.”

You scoff, “Easy for you to say.”

“It is easy. You just have to know how.”

“Yeah, well I don’t.”

He laughs at your indigence, “Are you scared?”

You perk up your feathers at his question. How dare he even suggest – “No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I – hey! Don’t let go!” you nearly shriek as one of his arms loosens and waves out to his side. Your grip around his shoulders tightens as you notice the two of you moving out towards the center of the pool. You’re almost embarrassed to acknowledge wrapping your legs around his waist as well.

“Don’t worry! I got you. It’s okay, honest. Just relax.”

You don’t want to admit it, but the water does feel nice on your heated skin. And you feel nearly weightless. Okay, so this isn’t that bad – as long as he doesn’t drop you. You suddenly stop. A particular detail catches your attention. “Michael? Are you standing up?” Idiot. Some things you just don’t need to know.

“No.”

Okay, now would be a REALLY good time to panic. You gasp and flail out instantly, the thought of sinking clouding your thoughts. Michael immediately moves to pacify you.

“Hey! Settle down. You’re going to make us sink if you keep doing that.” Damn, you really didn’t want to hear that. Without any other option available to you, you regain your grip on him. Your fingernails are bound to leave marks.

“Don’t drop me!” you yelp.

“I won’t drop you.”

“I swear, Michael, if you let me drown - ”

“I’m not going to let you drown,” he sounds almost amused. He really thinks this is funny?! “Just relax and enjoy it. It’s nice.”

“You’re a sadistic little gremlin, you know that?”

Michael laughs again. You’re too busy pouting (and trying to slow down your heartbeat) to admit how nice it sounds. “You’ll like it. Trust me.” He moves you both about a little. It feels almost like floating. How is he…?

“How do you do that?” you don’t mean to ask, but your curiosity is overwhelming. He’s so graceful when he does this, like everything else he can’t help mastering.

“Do what?”

Jerk. He’s not making this easy. “That. Floating. Why haven’t we gone under? You’re hardly moving.”

“Treading water? It’s simple. You just move your arms and legs and keep your weight supported. You could do it.”

You vibrantly shake your head, “No, I can’t. I sink.”

“That’s because you try too hard and you panic. When you panic, you move too much, and you can’t propel yourself up.”

“I can’t help it! I don’t do well with water…”

Once again, Michael laughs, but it’s kind, “You could. You just have to trust the water. And let it carry you.”

“Water does not carry me…”

“Here, let me show you.”

Oh, no! Why did you have to open your big mouth!

You begin to panic again when Michael begins to remove one of your arms from around his neck. You fight him, desperate to get your stronghold back.

“Chill out!” He exclaims. “I said I wasn’t going to drop you. Just trust me.” He makes it sound so easy…

In removing one of your arms from their grip, he ends up turning you around, so his chest is against your back. He switches arms so that he previously free one is around your stomach. Leaning back, he lightly launches himself so that you both drift backwards a little. You feel his legs kicking beneath yours. Subconsciously, you follow suit. He takes the other hand that had no choice but to let go of him and stretches it out to your side, using it to steer your bodies. Your other arm reaches up behind you to grab the back of his neck again. Somehow, you just don’t feel completely comfortable if you don’t have some control over the support of your body. You feel him smile behind you. Oh, he’s just enjoying this entirely too much!

So, you’re not perfect.

And, boy, is he milking it for all its worth.

“This is not funny…” you suddenly huff lowly.

“Who’s laughing?”

“You are! Just because I can’t do this…”

“Hey! I’m not laughing at you! I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re not going to let me forget this.”

“Gosh, you’re paranoid!”

Well…yeah. So? Being paranoid is probably why you’re still alive…

Michael continues to drift around for a bit. You let him; slowly unwinding enough to enjoy the soothing feel of cooling down from the already-hot sun. Even your bad knee isn’t aching as much as it usually tends to. He was right – it is almost like flying.

“Feel better?” Michael’s question brings you out of your reverie. He sounds just as relaxed as you feel.

You shrug, “I guess. A little.” Still, with barely his arm to secure you, you don’t feel comfortable. Awkwardly, you shift around until he allows you to turn your body back to face him. You hold onto his shoulders again, trying hard not to think about the tons of water surrounding you. He giggles so adorably that you could swear his eyes sparkle.

“It’s easier than you think, I promise.”

“Then explain to me why I’m a grown woman and I still can’t do it!”

“You just have to learn. Look, you’re already partially doing it!”

“What do you – ?” you look to see what he’s talking about. Even you haven’t noticed until now that your legs haven’t resumed their death grip on his hips. Instead, they’re drifting to your side, letting the mass of the water lazily support them. In fact, Michael is barely holding you up; more like cradling you and letting you support yourself. “Oh…”

Michael smiles. It could be because he’s enjoying watching you warm up to the idea of swimming – or he’s taking pride in proving to you that you can do it. But you can’t! So there!

“Here. Trust me.”

“I – wait! Michael!” you protest as he begins to unwrap one of your arms again.

“Shush. Trust me. I got you.” You feel yourself freaking out for a spilt second when you begin to tilt backwards from the lack of support, but as soon as you feel one of his arms under your shoulders and neck, you settle down. “Stretch your arm out to your side. Like you’re making a cross with your body, see?” tentatively, you follow his instructions. You know your hand is shaking, so you clench it into a fist. You’re not scared of the water, you’re not scared of the water, you’re NOT scared of that WATER! “Relax your hand. Don’t tense up. That’s what makes you sink. Just let it drift.” Grrrrrr! You obey, but not without several mentally voiced curse words. As soon as that’s accomplished, his free hand moves to your lower back and begins to push it up towards the surface, “Push your hips up. Straighten your legs. Lay back and push your shoulders up, too.”

At his last instruction, you hesitate, “I don’t want to put my face in the water.”

“You won’t,” he calmly assures you.

“Don’t let go of me!”

“I won’t let go of you.”

By the time you do as he says, the angle has become awkward. And he says this is supposed to keep you from sinking? “This feels weird…” you grumble.

“That’s because you’re not relaxed. Here, let go of my neck…”

“No!” you jump, messing up the beautifully sculpted form he set you up in. “I’ll fall!”

“No, you won’t!” he shoots back, caught somewhere between amusement and irritation. “I do this all the time. You’ll be fine! Now, lay back again. Let me guide you.”

"I'm gonna kick your ass later..." just saying...

Michael shakes his head, rolling his eyes, but with a small smile, "What is your obsession with cursing?"

"Don't tell me YOU'VE never cursed..."

"Occasionally. Rarely. On accident." you snort at that last statement. Michael immediately jumps to his own defense as he helps get you back in the position you were in earlier. "It's true! I don't like swearing."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"It's rude. And you don't need it to get a point across." you give a 'humph' in response. He quirks an eyebrow at you. "Well why do YOU like it?"

You shrug, finding yourself surprisingly comfortable in his arms, "It's not that I like it; it just makes me feel better."

"About what?"

You turn up to send a cocked eyebrow of your own to him, "Well, for starters, you dragging me out to the middle of a pool that's deeper than either one of us are tall..."

"So I take it you're planning to curse your way out of here?"

You splash him a little, "Smart-ass. And, no, I plan to find some way to torture you until you let me back out."

Michael seems to consider on that thought, " Hm. Well, I COULD just leave you out here and make you find a way out yourself. Then you'll have no choice but to learn how to swim."

Deep down, you know he's joking. Still, you can't help jumping to cling onto him again at the mere suggestion, "You better not! Or you'll find yourself buried in the middle of the Nevada desert for letting me drown!"

Michael laughs hard, but you can't muster the energy nor the mood to join him. He hugs you tight against him for a second, trying to placate you, "I was only kidding!"

"You'd better be..." you pout as Michael once again directs you to lay back in the water, stretched out. You know Michael wouldn't do such a thing, but still it doesn't calm your nerves a whole lot.

"Don't worry," he reassures you again, this time his voice becoming quieter and a tad more serious. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you." his words make a chill run up your spine. You hope he keeps that promise... After a moment, he moves to remove your hand from his shoulders. "Here, let go. I need you to lie flat. I got you." slowly, your hand releases its grip. Wanting to keep the contact as long as possible, you trail it down his shoulder and his arm until he pries your fingers loose. Now, he's holding your hand in his own, the other supporting your back. "Remember: keep your body flat, push your shoulders and your butt up, keep your legs together." you do as he says. You feel cramps forming in your stomach because you can't stop shaking. Your quivering breaths echo in your own ears. "Tilt your head back a little." you shake your head vigorously. "It's not going to go under," he says "I'll hold you up. Just trust me. But I need my hand." he starts to pull his hand away from your grip. You resist at first until he reassures you enough that you concede. Immediately, it goes to the back of your neck, where he let's you put a lot of your weight on it. Eventually, he coerces you to do as he says and lie completely flat. Water seeps into your ears and you shut your eyes on instinct. Michael is right, though; the water level doesn't reach your face or your eyes. Okay... This isn't so bad. This is easy.

Soon, your breaths even out. Wow. This IS like floating. This is something you'll have to remember the next time you decide to attempt anything that involves a large body of water.

"See? You're doing it!" you smile at his words, but keep your eyes closed. You're so relaxed... "Look! You see, I told you that you could do it!" finally, you open your eyes to look up at Michael. He's grinning so big. He even brings up both his hands above the water to show you - wait! ABOVE the water??

Realization clicks in your head. Michael’s hands aren't under you, which means he isn't holding you up, which means there's nothing under you except the water, which means -

You gasp and yelp at the same time. Back in panic mode, you move to grab onto him again, but before you can reach, you feel the water level shoot up around you. Wetness and the smell of chorine envelope your entire body and senses. Water rises and covers your body. Your nose burns as the blue liquid replaces the oxygen. Your vision is a blurred mess. You shut them, feeling the instant burn of the chemicals. You try to scream, but you can only choke on the bubbles escaping your mouth. You try to grab onto something - anything - to pull yourself back up. There's nothing beneath you, nothing to stand on. You can’t even reach the surface; you're sinking too fast. You fight, scramble, and flail - you can't think straight. The only thing that registers is 'I can't move! I can't breathe!'

Something touches you. You try to swat it away; it's going to pull you down, hold you under. 'Let me go!'

But it's too strong for you. It encircles your waist. You feel as if you're going to pass put from the hysteria. This is NOT how you intended to die...

Suddenly, the water breaks away from your face. You get hit in full-force with a huge wave of air. You gasp, then choke, then gag as mouthfuls of water spill from your mouth. Something is holding strands of hair that had fallen loose away from your face. A hand is thumping your back. Someone is speaking. It takes you a moment to recognize the voice.

"Easy. Breathe slowly. You're okay."

You finally take note of your surroundings. Your leaning over the ledge of the pool, your knuckles turning white with how tightly you're gripping the concrete. An arm is around your waist, supporting your dead weight. Whoa. Bad metaphor.

You recognize the voice as Michael's. You feel a sudden surge of hurt and fear. He said he wouldn't drop you. He promised. He PROMISED. Why would he do that? Why did he let go?

While Michael tries to calm you down and bring you out of your fit of hysteria, you bury your face in your hand. It's not fair. This is so embarrassing. You didn't even want to get in. You -

You pull your hand away and examine it, a sudden thought crossing your mind. In your palm, you see creamy smudges of black and beige. A new panic takes over. Instantly, you scramble to pull away from him and pull yourself out of the water.

"Hold it." Michael exclaims, trying to calm your frantic movements. "Let me help. We can try again."

"No," you reply curtly. "Let me out."

"You were doing great!" he argues. "Lots of people sink the first time. You just panicked, that's all!"

"I don't want to. Let me out!"

Finally, he eases his hold, even giving you a boost out of the water. Immediately, you scramble to the grass, intent to get as far away from that pool as possible. Michael begins to follow you. "But you did it! You just need a little more practice."

"I'm not going back in," your voice has gone deadpan, neutral, cold. You try to find something to cover your face, but cannot. When Michael catches up to you, you clamp a hand over your face. "I have to fix my makeup...."

"Your makeup is fine! Besides, we're getting wet! It's not supposed to stay on."

"Mine is." you suddenly bound back to him, pulling yourself to your feet. "You said I wouldn't go under! You said you wouldn't let go!"

"But you were doing it!" he retorts. "I had to show you you could do it!" you nearly growl, turning away to trot back in the direction of the house. He follows after you. "Look, I'm sorry! I was going to catch you if that happened. I just wasn't fast enough! It won't happen again, I swear!"

"You're right; it won't." you take off into a sprint. You're not sure how long he follows you. All you know is that as soon as you reach your bathroom, you shut and lock the door.

 

(A/N: .........Well, I greatly considered cutting it off here...BUUUUUT i didn't want to be that cruel! XD Besdies, I kept you all waiting long enough. Onward!)

 

Michael quickly gave up the chase once he realized she wouldn’t let him anywhere near her. With a load groan, he buried his face in his hands. Damn it!

He was such an idiot! Why did he push so hard? Why didn’t he just let her be? They could have found something else to do. Why did he have to have his way?

Dejectedly, Michael shuffled back to the pool and sat on the edge. Boy, did he royally mess that one up. He was willing to bet all of his earnings that he would be lucky if he saw any trace of her again before she and the guys left. He honestly didn’t think he was doing any harm!

Before too long, he began to hear footsteps approaching. He jerked his head up, hoping she had returned. When he saw who it was, he was almost embarrassed to admit that he was disappointed.

“What’s kickin’, Mike?”

Shoulders slumped, Michael couldn’t even look up to offer a smile in return, “Hey, Sammy.”

“Hope you weren’t waiting long; they said you’d be out here.”

“Just how late did we stay up last night?” Alex’s voice cut in. Michael could hear the two men approaching. “I seem to recall getting as far as Cars, but I don’t know what time that was.”

“That’s it? Damn, old man, you missed the best one! I swear, that horse in Tangled cracked me up!”

“Well, I already saw that one anyways.” Alex brushed off, beginning to step into the pool. “And who are you calling ‘old man’, yeh lil’ whippersnapper?”

There was the sound of a splash and Michael glanced up just in time to see Alex shaking some water from his face. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch, but he didn’t feel like putting much effort in otherwise. He barely managed to look up when he felt Sammy tap his shoulder, “So, where’s the punk? She still passed out in the theater? And she calls herself nocturnal!” with a snarky laugh, the impersonator made his way to the diving board.

“Please, Sammy,” Alex chided. “You really expect to find her out here? Do you have any idea where you’re standing?”

Sammy rolled his eyes as he reached the top of the latter, “Duhh! I just thought maybe she’d attempt to be social. Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen…” with an obnoxious, high-pitched shout, he pounced and double-flipped off the board, hitting the water with a deep splash. Michael grimaced and turned his eyes downcast again. After a moment, Sammy resurfaced again, swishing his curly locks from his eyes. “Ah, well. We can hang for a bit til she gets her ass out here.”

“She won’t be coming,” Michael supplied gloomily.

“Yeah? Why not? Don’t tell me she found something better to do!”

“You wouldn’t happen to have an all-access bar anywhere around here, would you, Michael?”

Sammy slapped hard on the water, making sure that a good chunk of the wave hit Alex in the face again. The manager returned fire, unabashed. Michael frowned even deeper, “I…think I scared her off…” Alex and Sammy exchanged glances. Then, not two seconds later, both burst into boisterous laughter.

“You? Scare the illustrious One-Woman Freak-Show away?” Alex chortled between gusts of breath. “Please!”

“Come on, Michael. You’ve got all the intimidation tactics of a newborn kitten!” Sammy added, eyes beginning to water. “Aren’t you the same man who insisted on paying for the date that was really an apology tactic meant for you?”

Michael finally looked up at the guffawing men. His brown eyes had grown wide and his jaw flapped disconcertedly, “I – wha – you – ! That was not a date! And how’d you know about that?!”

Sammy shrugged, complacent expression on his face, “She’ll never admit it, but good God, she talks about that a lot. ‘Relentless gentlemen’, ‘stupidly funny’, ‘energy of a little kid’, she goes on and on. It makes me sick how gushy she can get every time she talks about it.” He threw in a repulsed shudder in for good measure. "Sometimes being the best friend has it's major dowsides..."

Michael jolted a little, surprised to say the least, “She…talks about me? Why?”

Alex rolled his eyes, as if having to explain the same concept a hundred times, “Pssh, oh, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re the one she’s idolized practically since the cradle, the one who the biggest segment of her show is based off of, the one who showed up at said show out of the blue and she unwittingly insulted and then flew all over the world and back every night for two solid weeks just to find and make amends with – but I don’t know; it could just be my over-analytical imagination…”

Michael frowned again, dispirited all over again. Slumping even more, he unconsciously kicked at the water, “That’s not funny, Alex.” Sammy and Alex exchanged astounded looks, jaws dropped and brows furrowed.

“You know,” Alex said to Sammy, not caring whether or not Michael could hear. “I don’t know who has a thicker head: ****** or him.”

“Besides,” Michael cut again, not looking at either one of them. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I really messed up.”

Sammy was the first to drop his smile, the latter words spoken so eerily familiar. The only difference this time was the person speaking them. “Messed up, how? Seriously, what could you have done that could have in any way possible sent her running far away from you?”

Michael bit his lip. He was both embarrassed and ashamed. When he looked up at his two other friends, he had the most pitiful look he could ever recall donning on his face, “Well…I just…we were fine for a while, honest. But she wouldn’t – I just wanted – I didn’t realize she was so scared of it – ”

Alex shook his head roughly, as if trying to clear cobwebs from his cranium, “Excuse me, what? Her? Scared of what, exactly? In all my years working with her, she’s always prided herself on not being scared of anything. What did you do?”

With a loud, exasperated groan, Michael buried his face in his hands again, “She was doing so good! She just – if only she hadn’t panicked – she would have been fine! I didn’t mean to push so hard! I just didn’t realize…”

Sammy exchanged glances with Alex once again before speaking, “Okay, Earth to Mike! Do you plan on making sense anytime soon?”

“The water!” Michael burst. “I was just trying to help! I thought if I taught her how, she wouldn’t be so scared of it. She was doing fine! I only let go for a second! And she just – ”

“Whoa, whoa. Back up!” Sammy put up his hand and Michael quit his rushed speech. “Are you…telling us you were trying to teach her how to swim?”

“…Yes,” God, they were soooo going to kill him!

“As in, you got her in the water?”

“Yes! But I – ”

“You got her comfortable enough to let you pull her in with you?!”

“Well…not exactly. I mean, I kind of forced the issue. But I got her calmed down enough to let me try to teach her. She was doing fine! She just…panicked – ”

“What – _happened_?”

Michael visibly jumped at Sammy’s firm tone. He’d never heard him speak so low and guttural before, “She only went under for a second! I pulled her back out, but…she just freaked! I didn’t mean to scare her! I swear!”

“Where’d she go?!”

Okay, Sammy was seriously going to hurt him! “I – I don’t know! She ran off before I could try and fix it. She said something about fixing her makeup – ”

“Fuck…” Sammy moved suddenly and for a split second – despite sitting on opposite ends of the pool – Michael honestly thought the impersonator was going to take a swing at him. Instead, he was surprised to find Sammy rapidly turning and hoisting himself out of the water. He immediately took off, without so much as grabbing a towel to dry off before he went.

Silence followed Sammy’s abrupt departure. The two remaining men merely watched in the direction that he took off in. After what felt like forever, Alex turned back to Michael, his expression unreadable. Michael gazed back at him fearfully.

“Alex, do me a kind favor and drown me before he comes back.”

“And why would I want to do that?” the manager asked calmly.

“He’s going to murder me…” Michael replied miserably. “And I’d rather have something quick and easy over anything he might come up with.”

Alex rolled his eye exaggeratedly with a smirk, “Do you honestly think that Sammy has the capacity to pull off anything that horrible?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to know how protective he is of her!”

“Protective, yes. Unreasonably so, yes. Barbaric to the point of mindless slaughter over a hiccup that’s rationally fixed, no.” When Michael didn’t look convinced, Alex sighed loudly. “Really, Michael! You made an honest mistake. It’s not as if you were purposely out to cause bodily harm.”

“But I could have caused bodily harm!”

Alex rolled his eyes again, “’Could have’ being the key term, here. You said so yourself, didn’t you? She was only under for a second, and you pulled her right back out. She had a bit of a scare, but she was otherwise fine, correct?” Michael moved to argue, but Alex continued before he had the chance. “Now, judging from my knowledge, she and water don’t exactly have a pretty history. Be fair to yourself; how were you supposed to know if she didn’t tell you that?”

“But she told me she couldn’t swim…”

“Lots of people don’t know how to swim,” Alex countered, still calm as ever. “And many get freaked out when just learning how. But only someone with the backstory she has would go into a panic-attack, regardless of knowing to be in good hands.”

“Right! And I was responsible…”

“You’re not listening, Michael,” reprimanded Alex. “I’ve managed ****** for a good number of years, now. And the only one who knows better than I do that she doesn’t open up easily is Sammy. Now, I don’t know the whole story, but I do know the essential basics. And I know enough to say in confidence that you got a lot further with her in one morning than even her best friend could in all the years they’ve known each other. I honestly couldn’t tell you how long it took her before she was able to step into a bathtub!” Michael took a moment to soak in the words. He knew something should be clicking right about now, but…he wasn’t quite sure what it was. “In other words,” Alex continued. “For some ungodly reason that I can’t even begin to explain, she trusts you. Sammy and I have tried for years to get her to step outside of her little shell and overcome whatever it is she’s struggling with, and in the course of less than a day, you managed to take a bigger step than any of us dared to expect to.”

Michael sat silently for a moment, deliberating. What Alex was saying was incredible; he could hardly believe it himself, when it was worded that way. But one fact would not quit nagging at the back of his mind. “But…I think I broke whatever that trust was. I mean, I didn’t convince her to get in the pool; I practically forced her in. And I kept her here until she tried it…”

Alex laughed haughtily, “Please. Michael, consider the facts for a minute. She’s a second-degree black-belt martial artist,” he listed, counting out on his fingers. “An accomplished escapologist, a trained dancer, contortionist, and stuntwoman. Do you really think she couldn’t have come up with some way to get out and away from you if she really wanted to? To put it brashly, she could have dislocated both your shoulders, wrestled you into a sleeper-hold, used your body as a raft, and rowed her way to the edge if she wanted to. And she didn’t, did she?” Oh. He didn’t think of that. Taking Michael’s silence for acceptance, Alex continued, “So relax; you didn’t do any damage that can’t be undone. She trusts you. You’re just going to have to get used to that.”

Michael didn’t bother answering. They both knew he had no choice but to accept that. The issue at hand now was letting the idea sink in.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard another pair of footsteps approaching. He looked up, uncertain.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, ladies. I'm deeply sorry for all the delays; I've just been taking care of my husband, who was recently diagnosed with cancer. Although the doctors have finally used the word "cure", we've still got a long, tough road ahead with the remaining treatment. But, to make up for all the wait I've inflicted, I've sent you two chapters. Hope everyone enjoys. Thank you for your patience. Xoxo

Chapter Twelve

 

“So, are we going to see this amusement park, or what?”

Alex and Michael jerk their gazes up at your question. Alex cocks an eyebrow, passing Michael an ‘I-told-you-so’ look that you don’t exactly understand. Michael just seems surprised to see you.

Yet again, you would probably be surprised to see you, too. If not for Sammy, you probably wouldn’t have worked up the gumption to come back around for a do-over.

You didn’t mean to freak out, honest. But, damn it, there’s a reason you don’t go near large bodies of water unless there’s some kind of business to be had. If you had a natural enemy, it would be water. Heh, which is probably why you feel the need to challenge it so much. It may not be what your friends would consider healthy therapy, but it’s certainly better than nothing.

Michael finally meets your eyes, and you gaze back, unflinching. Your makeup is pristine once again, never giving any indication of its malfunction from earlier. You’re also back in one of your signature dark pairs of jeans (heat be damned) along with a studded sleeveless blouse and your black gloves. Your tough image is back and fully intact, but you’re certain you’ve labeled yourself a full and complete scaredy-cat after the debacle in the pool. The best you can do at this point is hold your chin up high and forget that it ever happened.

“Uh…” Michael’s voice barely stutters. “Uhm, sure. O-okay. Let me just…”

You quirk an eyebrow as he lifts himself up from the edge of the pool. You can’t be certain, though, if he’s pointedly avoiding your gaze or not.

 

 

It just HAD to be a carousel ride you’d asked for… Well, at least it got you far away from everyone’s previous hangout. Anything is better than that…except maybe Alex’s too-pleased behavior and Sammy’s taunts about your choice in activity. But, hey, your friends picking on you once again at least ensures the lack of tension amongst you and a certain someone in your presence.

You aren’t sure whether or not you should feel a little bad when Michael decides not to join you.

“It’s okay,” he had quietly insisted. “I’ll watch you guys have fun for awhile. That’s the real fun part anyways.”

Something about his kind tone doesn’t sound right. Really, you could have sworn this morning’s incident was behind and buried already.

You sink into the deep pits of your own thoughts as the ride continues. You faintly hear Sammy and Alex chiding at each other. There may have been a SMACK or two thrown in somewhere. You ignore them both, instead opting to wrestle with yourself over the issue you’re trying (and failing) to ignore.

God, I’m a real fuck-up. Why did I have to freak out so hard? Why did I get close enough to let him dupe me into pulling me in? Why did I agree to start the day early? Hell, why the fuck did I even accept the invitation to come here? All I do is mess things up. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need me adding more drama into his world. Why can’t things just –?

You feel, rather than hear, a sudden weight sinking onto the horse next to you. You jerk your head up, turning to meet two very brown, very guilty-puppy eyes staring into yours. Good Lord, does he have to look so pathetic – and do his lips have to be that adorably pouty with that sad little frown? You roughly shake your head to quell your racing thoughts. You put on your best-rehearsed smile and are about to greet him when he holds out a little white teddy bear to you.

It’s big enough for you to be able to squeeze it in both arms and use it as a mini pillow if you wanted, yet his hands make it seem much smaller. In its paws, there’s a mesh bag full of bite-sized candies. It has little pink hearts for eyes. Across its tummy there are embroidered cursive letters that read ‘Hug Me’.

You’re taken aback for a moment at the gesture. You honestly don’t know what to say. When you look back up at Michael, his face hasn’t changed from the pitiful, apologetic pout. What’s he sorry for? God, you hope he isn’t offering you pity! There’s nothing you loathe more than that! You're embarrassment returns full-force. Before you can think of anything to say, he beats you to it.

“I’m sorry…” God, his voice sounds even more miserable.

Wait, what? Did he just apologize? Why…?

Michael pushes the stuffed bear towards you again, and you tentatively take it. It’s a second or two before you remember to paint your grin back on your face, “What for?” you laugh, hoping he doesn’t catch on to your uneasiness.

“For…you know,” he mumbles, slumping his shoulders and staring into his lap. “I didn’t mean to - ”

Red Alert! Mayday! S.O.S.!

You really do not like where he’s headed with this!

“Oh, you mean for stealing my cookies?” you abruptly offer, referring to your first rendezvous back in Germany months ago. “Heh, it’s about time! I was still a little cranky at you about that anyways.”

Michael jerks his head up to look at you. You ignore his gaze, instead focusing on the little bear, “What? But – I mean – what happened earlier – ”

“Nothing happened earlier,” you reply quickly. You still won’t look at him, but continue to force the plastic smile. “Hey, is there any Sweetarts in here?”

His large hand covers one of yours. He utters your name lowly, and suddenly you feel yourself freeze. Don’t do this, Michael. Not now. Not ever. Let it go, please…

“I meant this morning. In the pool. I didn’t mean – ”

Your other hand clamps down on his arm. You finally turn to face him, the grin barely hanging on, but your eyes hard and cold, “Nothing – happened. Okay?”

Michael minutely flinches at your low, warning tone. But he lets go of your hand, nonetheless, and you withdraw yours. He seems to have gotten the message; his hands are back in his lap, with his shoulders slumped even lower and his gaze is directed downward. You mentally slap yourself. Nice going, Miss Sensitivity.

“Okay…”

You grimace to yourself, trying to silence the groan escaping our lips. Why you? Why this? After a moment, you straighten yourself up again. You glance over to Michael, who doesn’t look any more cheered up than you feel embarrassed. Your character back on full max, you nudge his shoulder. When he looks up, your cocky grin is back on.

“Look, Tinkerbell. You can feel bad about whatever you’re feeling bad about if it makes you feel better,” wow, nice choice of rambling words. You resist the urge to slap yourself. “But if you really wanna make it up to me…” You seem to have caught his interest; Michael stares at you with expectant wide eyes, obviously hanging onto your every word. You lightly graze your lower lip with your teeth before continuing. “I hear that someone we both know claims to hold this…certain record of being on the Zipper the longest… What does it take for me to try and beat him?”

You watch Michael’s posture instantly change. In a flash, his back is erect, his shoulders square, and his shining white teeth bared in an excited beam. You release a silent breath of relief. Mission: Accomplished. Tension Abated. “Oh, you’re gonna wish you never said that!” He giggles haughtily.

Victory. You seize the opportunity of distraction. You puff out your chest a little theatrically with a challenging smirk, “Oh, yeah? Says who?”

“Says the man holding the record. No one’s ever been able to beat it!”

“Well, you’re gonna ‘Beat It’ once I cream your so-called record!”

“Is that so?”

“That is so!”

“Prove it!”

“Try me!”

“I will!”

“Let’s go, then!”

“Right now!”

 

Maybe you should have reminded Michael to shut off the carousel before you two raced off and left Sammy and Alex behind.

 

 

“Punk, I’ve seen you do some crazy shit over the years, but this solidifies what I’ve been saying all this time: YOU’RE NUTS!”

You turn back to your best friend as the massive carnival ride jolts to life. You meet his appalled stare with a quirked eyebrow, “I thought we established that a long time ago? Where the hell have you been?”

“You mean since we first met, or just now when we got abandoned to the galloping heard of artificial horses?”

You wave off his pointed complaint with an absent wave of your hand, “Oh, quit being such a baby!”

“What is your deal, seriously?” you shoot your gaze back to Sammy. He has his hands on his hips and he’s leveling you with a hard stare. “You’re doing the come-here-go-away thing. It’s confusing me, and it’s GOT to be confusing the hell out of Michael!”

“There is no deal!” you counter. “So I got distracted a bit and ran off before telling you guys. So what? What’s wrong with just having good, clean fun?”

“Does this include holing yourself up in the bathroom and not opening up to even me until I threatened to break down the door?”

“I did not ‘hole myself’ in the bathroom! I had a makeup malfunction and I had to fix it!”

“What, I haven’t seen you without your makeup before?” he answers back incredulously. You flinch and fight hard to keep eye contact. “And you could have took care of it without the hyperventilating demands that I – what was it? – ‘Go the fuck away’. Seriously, I thought I was going to have to buy Mike a new door. Since when do you freak out around me?”

“I did not ‘freak out’!”

“Oh, so I guess you aren’t creating some outlandish, impromptu stunt to drag away all the attention from you actually having human tendencies? Like a panic attack? Well, excuse me; I could have sworn you were mortal just like the rest of us!”

“Don’t give me that attitude, you little brat!” you snap, barely managing to keep your voice at a level so that Michael, Alex, and one of the ride operators can’t hear the heated conversation. “I did not have a damn panic attack! And I’m not covering up anything! Michael dared me to beat his record; who the hell am I to turn a challenge down?”

“What the hell you trying to prove, huh?” Sammy retorts after a second or two of him pinning you with his scrutinizing glare, a thick, dark eyebrow arched. “So you stepped outside your boundaries for once and it bit you a little.”

“It didn’t - ”

“You had a little freak-out – which is NORMAL – and now you’re trying to pretend it didn’t happen and prove to everyone just how tough you are. They,” he gestured to the others, who were caught up in their own conversation. “Probably don’t see what’s going on, but I do! Guess what, punk – you’re human, you have fears, and you have issues with things you don’t like to think about. Don’t we all? You’re not perfect! And no one expects you to be. So get that notion out of your hard-ass head already!”

Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you shove your friend hard, making him stumble back a step. It’s harder to control the tone in your voice, now, “Shut up! I do not have ‘fears’, okay? I’m the fucking Daredevil of Las Vegas! I’m not trying to prove anything! I’m being who I am! I would have thought you’ve learned who that is by now!”

“Oh, are you talking about the one who walked a burning tightrope between Mandalay Bay and TheHOTEL or the one who suffered a major flashback because her face got a little wet?”

“You’re such a prick!” you try to sound vicious. It doesn’t work very well, seeing as your voice shakes just a little. You chalk it up to being enraged. “There was no flashback! For the last time, I was fixing my makeup!”

“Which you wouldn’t have needed to do if you weren’t so caught up in trying to impress a certain someone!”

You balk at Sammy. You cannot believe the words leaving his mouth, “Look, I don’t need to impress anybody! I NEVER let anyone see me without my makeup – you know that! HE’S no exception!”

“Why the hell are you so ashamed of yourself?” Sammy exclaims. Your voices are rising now. It’s too late to try and repress them. “Do you really think he’s going to care if he happens to see the product of something that isn’t your fau- ?”

“Don’t lecture me! You know why no one can ever see what I look like!”

“I know what you look like!” he counters. “What makes me so different? Do I treat you any less than I always have?”

“You’re different because you were there before it all happened! You know what happened! I know you’re not going to treat me any different, but that doesn’t speak for everybody else in the world! I can’t take that chance!”

“What’s the fucking difference? Michael saw how you reacted with something as simple as swimming. And he’s the one who felt guilty! Do you really think someone like that is going to care that you’re not perfect?”

“Look, I don’t care what he thinks!” you don’t acknowledge the fact that you’re lying. You do care what Michael thinks. A lot. You can’t imagine any opinion in the world that matters more than his. “I just don’t want to have to deal with any awkwardness that comes about if I get careless!”

“Oh, so this morning wasn’t awkward?”

“Nothing happened this morning!”

Sammy huffs sarcastically, “Mmhmm, and you’re not scared of water.”

“I’m fucking not - !”

“Guys?”

Both of you jerk your gazes towards where the others are standing. You can’t tell if they heard any of that, but you do know that they knew you were arguing. You watch Michael shift uneasily on his feet, avoiding both yours and Sammy’s gazes. Alex is staring hard at both of you, silently ordering you two that ‘Now is not the time, whatever it is’. The ride operator looks concerned.

“Don’t we have a bet to settle?” Alex asks casually. “What are the stakes, anyways?”

You return your gaze to Sammy's hard one. It’s obvious that neither one of you are going to concede. Finally, you break away and stride confidently towards the open cage.

“I don’t care what they are; I just want bragging rights.”

Michael seems encouraged by your quick shift back into your spunky, playful mood. He follows you into the cage as the operator, Jason, locks you both in, “Is that all? I think I want a week’s worth of hot chocolate and cookies in bed…served by the loser.”

You raise an eyebrow and gawk at him, “You know, normally I would be indignant about that if I thought there was a chance of me losing.”

Michael laughs back at you, no less confident, “You don’t stand a chance! No one’s come close to beating me!”

“Til now!”

“We’ll see about that!” After sticking his tongue out at you, Michael calls out to Alex and Sammy, “You guys joining in? There’s plenty of cages!”

Alex holds up his hands in surrender, “Noooo, thanks. You guys might be young and crazy enough to be locked up in a flipping and spinning cage for over 35 minutes, but I’d like to keep my breakfast.”

“Don’t worry!” Michael laughs. “You won’t have to be up here long before ****** begs Jason to stop.” You slap his arm.

“Dream on, Tinkerbell! You’ll be crying before I get bored of this thing!”

“I’d rather watch her piss herself from down here…” Your scowl is back at Sammy’s remark. “That way I can be out of the line of fire.”

“Just wait til I get your ass in the bumper cars, you brat! I’m gonna run your ass over, get out to help you and make sure you’re okay, and then run your ass over again and LAUGH!”

“Language!” exclaims Michael.

Regardless of the catcalling, you feel pretty good about your odds as the machine takes you both up to the top. You take a moment to admire the view of Neverland Ranch before the ride jolts to life. You pass a look to Michael that says, ‘Bring it on!’ He grins mischievously in return. It isn’t until five minutes into the ride that you discover the reason for his cockiness.

 

That’s when Jason cranks up the speed to full max. Even you didn’t expect that.

You should probably cover all of the fine print the next time you make a bet with Michael…


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Thirteen

 

  
“I demand a recount!”

  
Michael is still on the grass, laughing so hard his face is flushed. You resist the urge to growl as Alex prompts you to sip more from your water bottle. Your throat burns. Chocolate definitely doesn’t feel as good coming up your throat as it does going down.

  
“A deal’s a deal!” Michael chortles hysterically. “You couldn’t make it! I am the KING!”

  
“I had to have been sabotaged!” you fire back as you struggle to stand back up. “What’d you put in that candy? This is a set-up, I tell you!”

  
“You’re such a sore loser! Even Captain Hook loses better than you! You’re more Peter Pan than I am!”

  
You chuck your water bottle at him. You miss by a lot. Well, it isn’t your fault you’re uncoordinated at the moment. “I would have made it if your candy hadn’t come back for a visit! I was almost there!”

  
Sammy’s haughtiness doesn’t help your irritation, “Thirty-three minutes and seventeen seconds still ain’t thirty-five, punk. I’m with Mike; he is the KING!”

  
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side, here!”

  
“Mmhmm, and what was this about ‘running my ass over’ in the bumper cars? Are you even fit to drive?”

  
“I can fire you, you know.”

  
“But you’d be a complete moron if you did.”

  
“It’ll make me feel better!”

  
“You still owe me a week’s worth of breakfast in bed!” Michael cuts in, still giggling like a madman. “And I get all the cookies to myself! And I’m gonna make you sit and watch me eat every – single – one!”

  
“You’re cruel!” you cry. “You're evil! You’re - !”

  
“I’m Tinkerbell!” he supplies before collapsing in another fit of laughter.

  
Ooh! He’s soooo going to get it.

  
You’re not sure how, yet.

  
But if it’s the last thing you do, Michael Jackson is going to get it!

 

 

 

 

  
It’s foggy. The moisture is so close you can feel it on your cheeks. The air is heavy all around you. No, it isn’t fog. It’s steam. You’re careful of your footing as you waft your way through it.

  
Your nose picks up a pleasant smell. It’s musky. Masculine. It smells just like the letters you receive in the mail. You like the scent; you follow it.

  
The heels on your leather boots slightly sink into the ground beneath you. Grass? Or is it dirt? The sound of a few twigs snapping under your feet gives you the impression that you're in some kind of wooded area. A faint voice catches your attention. It’s singing, you notice. It’s such a sweet, melodic sound. As you venture toward it, you realize you recognize the tune. You instantly feel at ease, knowing that voice is nearby. It always managed to make you feel better on even your worst days.

  
A silhouette begins to peak through the misty air. You hear splashing. Your steps halt for a moment. Something tells you to turn back. To where, you don’t know. But deep down you know you shouldn’t step any closer. But that voice…that beautiful, angelic voice urges you forward. You can’t help it. It’s an addiction. You can’t get enough of it.

  
As you draw nearer to the sound, the steam thins just enough for you to spot a familiar face. He turns, smiling as he notices you standing there, watching him. He looks so beautiful.

  
He’s standing in the middle of a shallow spring, the high waterfall creating a stunning background. His hair is wet, the dark ringlets stuck to his face here and there. His white tee shirt is soaked through; you can see his pale-mocha skin under the fabric. His long fingers wipe some water from his chocolate-brown eyes. You’re mesmerized.

  
He begins to make his way toward you. You can’t decide whether to meet him halfway or to run for your life. But his smile – that infectious smile keeps you rooted where you stand. He reaches a glistening hand out to you. You glance at it, then meet his eyes and shake your head. You can’t. You just…can’t.

  
He isn’t deterred. With a smile, he rolls his eyes and steps up onto the stone ledge peering over the water, where you’re standing. You take a step back, but no more. He promised he would never hurt you, didn’t he?

  
But didn’t they all…?

  
No, he’s different, you remind yourself. You don’t pull back when his larger hand reaches for yours, which is hanging loosely at your side. His skin is wet, but oh so soft. His fingers cradle your hand gently and that smile never wavers. You feel both of your knees go weak. Right now, you can’t even remember why you keep resisting his insatiable charm.

  
His other arm encircles your waist just as you feel your legs give out. You feel a little embarrassed as you collapse against him, hands falling onto his hard chest. You cast your eyes downward, ashamed and at a loss for words. A laugh that sounds more like a sigh escapes his lips as he reaches up to brush some strands of hair from your face. You look up to see his sparkling, happy eyes. Your breath hitches. They’re boring hard into yours, with such intensity. You feel incredibly naked despite you’re fully-clad get-up.

  
You feel his weight shift a bit. You realize what he’s doing just a split second before it happens. It’s too late to stop him when you finally notice him taking a step backwards – over the side of the ledge.

  
There’s no time to scream. You hear before you feel the splash. How you managed to keep your head above the water is beyond your comprehension. All you know is you’re up to your chest in water, your arms are wrapped around an insatiable (gorgeous) man’s neck, and for once you’re not apprehensive about being near (much less in) a body of water. Wow. You could certainly learn to like this.

  
After viewing your surroundings for a moment, your eyes manage to find their way back the deep brown ones in front of you. They’re still smiling, but they’re soft now. You could almost melt just from their stare alone.

  
“See? It’s not so bad.”

  
Those familiar words make you smile, in spite of yourself. It’s not so bad. Just what did you have to be afraid of again?

  
‘You’re too stupid to be afraid.’

  
You jump at the sound of a much darker, much scarier voice. You’re companion doesn’t seem to have heard it. But you know it was there. You glance all around you, hoping – and yet not hoping – to find the speaker of such a gravelly voice. You return your gaze to the only other visible person. He’s blissfully unaware of the dark shadow that seemed to pass over you both. He steps away from you, intent on continuing to play, as he had been before you arrived. You reach out and grab for his hand, not wanting to be left alone. With a smile, he pulls you in further, deeper into the water. Against your cemented instincts, you let him lead you.

  
‘You see? You never learn. You embarrass me. How many times do you have to be taught?’

  
This time you spin all around you, searching – praying that those words you’re hearing are just your imagination. It’s been so long. He couldn’t have caught up with you now, could he…?

  
‘You’re useless. Worthless. It’s only dumb luck that you’re still around. And you can’t even do that right.’

  
You shake your head, trying to drown out the persistent voice. There’s no one there. You’re just imagining things. He’s gone. He has been for –

  
‘Just how many times have you tried to kill yourself? If you weren’t such an attention whore, maybe you could have gotten the job done years ago.’

  
You shake your hand out of that of your playmate’s and cover your ears. He’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not –

  
‘Everyone knows it’s “down the road,” not “across the street.” Any moron could get that right! But not you. You never fail to disappoint. The easiest thing in the world and it’s fucking rocket science to you.’

  
The soft, sweet voice that lured you here catches your attention. You look up at that beautiful face again. He’s in the deep end, now, floating gracefully and carelessly about. He’s waiting for you to join him. He has his arms stretched out to you, beckoning. Promising you safety.

  
Safety. That sounds nice.

  
But to step into emanate danger to get to it…?

  
‘What’s stopping you, you coward? If you would have just listened to me instead of fighting me, I could have taken care of it for you. But, as always, you’re too fucking stupid to know an easy break when you see one.’

  
You can’t stand it anymore. Without even stopping to consider the elements, you charge forward, towards your companion. He’ll keep you safe. You just know it. He wouldn’t let –

  
A gasp barely makes it out of your mouth before an invisible force shoves you down, passed the surface of the water. Instantly, the burn makes it into your lungs. You thrash and fight, confused and frightened at what just happened. Luckily, a pair of familiar hands reaches down to you and pull you back up. You cough for a moment, gather your bearings, and smile in thanks up at your playmate.

  
Then you freeze. Those are his clothes. That’s his voice you hear. But that isn’t his face.

  
Instead, what you see are a pair of icy green eyes, slicing through you with their fierce stare. You choke on a gasp. There’s only one person in the world with eyes full of such malice.

  
‘You think he’s gonna save you, princess?’ The monster chides, using Michael’s voice. The gentle hands that pulled you out from under the water suddenly have the grip of a vice. ‘He’s never come to rescue you before. What makes you think now will be any different?’

  
Your eyes begin to burn. You shouldn’t have come here. This is just another one of his tricks. And you fell for it, like you always do.

  
“Go away…” you try to order the creature. Your voice doesn’t sound half as strong as you tried to make it. An evil guttural laugh escapes the vocal chords that should only release the voice of a true angel.

  
‘At least you’re never boring…’

  
Before you can brace yourself, hands that are much stronger than you shove you back under. You release a scream. You fight with everything in you, but you can never land a solid blow. Forever seems to pass before you’re pulled back up. There are Michael’s black jeans, his white t-shirt, his soft hands… And just like that, you’re relief is crushed at the sight of yet another face that haunts you – and should definitely not be there.

  
Thick, dirty-blonde hair; a darker patch of a beard; hard, grey-blue eyes. Your body tenses at the familiar face on your friend’s body. The first instinct that registers for you is to flee. Unfortunately, the hands holding you don’t budge. Hell, you can’t even look away from that intimidating face. What makes it worse is you’re still hearing Michael’s voice.

  
‘I put up with a lot from you, you know that? Can’t you do anything right? Why do you make me do this all the time? Am I gonna have to teach you all over again? You know I don’t want to, babe, but if I have to…’

  
You shake your head and are about to say that, no; you don’t need to be taught again. You learned your lesson. You’ll be better next time. There's just no time before you’re being smothered once again by the threat of a liquid death.

  
You do manage to break away this time. But as soon as you do, a blunt force slams into the side of your head. You’re thrown out of the water, now. It’s shallow again, which means you’re able to crawl away, your head swimming (no pun intended). When you look back, it’s still Michael’s beautiful body, his voice, but not his face. This time, there’s a mass of shaggy, dark brown hair, a rugged goatee, and eyes so dark and grey they look black. God, not him!

  
‘Who wants a filthy slut, anyways? You’re lucky I took pity on you. If I didn’t love you so much, you would have been just a stain on the wall a long time ago.’

  
There’s only one thing left you can do. You’re cornered, which means it’s very unlikely you can escape. Plan B.

  
You tear your eyes away from those menacing ones. You bring your arms up to cover your head. Let’s hope the next blow doesn’t cause any serious damage…

  
A hand comes down on your shoulder.

  
With a loud, breathless gasp, you jolt to an upright position.

  
It’s dark. There’s no chill of the spring water. You're dry, save for a cold sweat that’s broken out on your forehead. You’re in your bed. At the Neverland Ranch. With a sigh, you fall back against your pillows. Thank God. Just a dream.

  
Your hands are shaking as you bring them up to cover your face. Wow. Where did all that come from? Not that it matters; bottom line is that was one freaky-ass dream. You’re almost afraid to go back to sleep.

  
Before any other thought has time to process, you throw back the covers. Maybe a midnight snack will help. You know for a fact that there’s a strawberry cheesecake just begging for attention…

  
Just before reaching your door, you notice the sound of a whistling breeze. A quick glance towards your window indicates that it had been left open. Well that explains a lot; you’re a Las Vegan. You’re a heat-dweller. Breezes kind of stunt that element. You make a point to close it before you decided to head to the kitchen.

  
There’s a beautiful full moon out tonight. You pause to admire its majesty for a moment. There’s a thin circle surrounding it. Wow…

  
With a smile to yourself, you reach for the shutter. The night sky is beautiful, but you’re never going to hear the end of it tomorrow if you’re exhausted because you decided to stay up to sky-gaze.

  
Just as you pull the window shut, it’s yanked completely open again by such a strong force that you’re thrown off balance. Before you even have a chance to question what just happened, a dark silhouette – menacing in stature and towering over you – bursts through the opening. There’s barely enough time for you to register the shape of a tangled mane of dirty-blonde hair on the male shape before instinct tells you to run.

  
The door is across the room, but the closet door is closer. Just as you run passed it, it’s thrown open as well, a burly form stepping out and making a grab for you. “Don’t you dare run from me, princess,” It roars. You trip, startled. You don’t stop, though. You back-peddle away from them both until you’re able to regain your feet. You can’t believe what you’re seeing. They can’t be here. It’s impossible. They wouldn’t know where –

  
Unable to think straight, you manage to make it to the staircase. You’re already making your way down when you notice a third silhouette bolting its way up toward you from the bottom. It moves inhumanly fast, giving you little time to react. Running out of options, you sprint in the other direction. Unfortunately, that path takes you right back towards your other pursuers. Your leg catches on the top step, making you fall. Your head makes a sickening CRACK when it hits the floor. A hand grabs onto your shoulder and you scream…

 

 

 

“Punk, what the fuck?!”

  
A loud gasp shakes your entire body. Your hand clamps down on the one grabbing your shoulder. It’s dark, but you can see the mocha skin and the slightly crooked pinky finger. Sammy broke it a few years ago during rehearsal. Wait – Sammy…?

  
You glance all around you. One of the hall lights is switched on. Your bedroom door is wide open, but no one is there. You’re at the top of the staircase, but no one is scrambling up at impossible speeds to get you. Your best friend is crouched beside you, clad in only a white wife beater and blue boxer shorts. You’re in your own nighttime wear. Struck with the possibility that there might be more people around, you instantly cover your face, which is devoid of makeup. However, no one else comes running; Sammy takes your hands away from your face to look at you. His expression is one of alarm and concern.

  
“What happened? What are you doing out on the stairs?”

  
You blink several times, trying to make sense of everything. Then you glance all around you. Where are the ghostly figures chasing you? The haunting voices of your past? “I was – what – where – ?”

  
Sammy snaps his fingers in front of your face. You refocus on him, bewildered, “Punk, you been sleep-walking again? What’s up? You mix pain meds? You sick?”

  
“I was – ” you shoot your gaze all over the place again. Finally, it becomes clear just what happened. “Nightmare,” you say with finality. “It was another nightmare.”

  
Sammy’s eyes widen instantly. He settles in to sit next to you, looking all around him himself this time, making sure there are no eavesdroppers. His hands hold your shoulders, offering protection as well as stability, “You sure? You haven’t had those in years. What’s wrong?”

  
“It was them…”

  
Obviously, nothing else needs to be said. Immediately, Sammy picks you both up off the floor, guiding you both to his room. He shuts and locks the door before sitting next to you on his bed, “Spill. What’s on your mind? I thought all that was behind you.”

  
You spend a couple of minutes chewing on your lip before you work up the gumption to meet his eyes. When finally you do, you relay every detail you dare to remember of the hellish dreams. When you finish, Sammy is silent for a long time.

  
“You think I’m insane, don’t you?”

  
Sammy slaps your arm in reproach, “Stop that. You know I don’t. But I do know you’re overthinking things again. What brought it on this time?”

  
“Nothing, I - !” You stop yourself before you can even think of a retort. You know exactly what triggered this. Your idiot ass and the fiasco with Michael in the pool. It brought back too many memories. And you brought it on yourself…. “But why was I seeing them…and hearing him?”

  
Your last thought is spoken so quietly, you’re almost sure your friend couldn’t hear it. He proves you wrong when he squeezes your hand. His eyes pierce through yours. You look away quickly, “He’s not them, okay? They’re gone.”

  
“But he could be them,” You argue. “He’s a man, Sammy! Every man ‘wasn’t them’. What makes him any different? He could very easily become one of them – if not worse!”

  
A hurt look crosses Sammy’s face, “I’m a man. Have I ever done anything to hurt you?”

  
A jolt runs through you at his words, “No! That’s not – of course you haven’t! But you’re different!”

  
“I could very easily become just like them, too, you know…”

  
“Yeah, but you won’t! I know you won’t!”

  
“But you seem to think Michael will…”

  
“I just – he – any sweet guy can pull a one-eighty at any given trigger-factor.”

  
“So could I.”

  
“But you won’t! I know that!”

  
“And you really think Mike has more of a chance to turn face than I do? Give me a break, punk! You know the things I’m capable of – and what I’ve done before. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say that Michael has more tendencies than I do to – ”

  
“You’re twisting what I’m saying!” you snap, frustrated.

  
“No, you're running yourself in circles!” Sammy snaps back. You recoil, but continue to sulk in your bitterness. After a moment, Sammy makes you look at him again. His voice is gentler now, “Not everybody is like that, okay? I’m not, Alex isn’t, and I’m pretty damn sure Michael of all people isn’t.”

  
“Then why the hell am I having nightmares again? This wouldn’t happen unless - ”

  
“You think too much, alright? How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  
“Can you blame me?!” hopefully you don’t sound too hysterical with that last comeback. “It’s probably the only reason I’m still here!” The room falls silent for another moment. Did you go too far? You hope the look on Sammy’s face isn’t pity; you’d never forgive yourself.

  
Finally, Sammy drops his head with a miserable sigh. “One of these days you’ll get it…”

  
“Get what?”

  
Sammy looks up with an obviously forced smile, “You need to get some rest. When we get back home, we’re in for a workload with the tour coming up.”

  
You want to argue, but it’s late and you really are tired. With a nod, you move up the bed to snuggle under the covers. Sammy follows suit, sliding in behind you and wrapping an arm snugly around your waist. This isn’t the first time you two have slept like this – nor will it be the last. Of all the people in the world, Sammy alone earned his position with you as your companion and protector. He was the first person who ever let you feel at ease, especially in sleep. In fact, it was probably him who managed to chase away all your nightmares of the past. Now that they’re starting to come back…you can only hope he can make them disappear again.

  
Your eyelids begin to feel heavy as Sammy strokes your hair before suddenly speaking, “You need anything?” At first, you start to shake your head, but your aching stomach changes your mind. You remember a certain cheesecake in the fridge. You turn a cheeky, pleading smile to your best friend. You hardly need to ask before he playfully rolls his eyes and gets back up out of bed. “God, why don’t you just hire me as your personal butler? Besides, do you really think a sugar rush is going to help you go to sleep? Need I remind you of the Zipper incident today?”

  
You chuck a pillow at him, barely repressing a smile, “You know as well as me that I’ve never had sugar kick my ass like that – and it isn’t about to start!”

  
Sammy laughs knowingly as he throws the pillow back at you, “Yeah, but you opened the door for me to give you shit about it from now until doomsday.”

  
“Hey, what was I supposed to do? Crush his spirit by beating a record he’s so affectionately proud of? I had to think of something!”

  
“Well, I guess I should savor the memory of you throwing away your dignity…”

  
You roll your eyes and prepare to throw another pillow, “Go get me my cheesecake, you brat.”

  
“Yes, dear.”

  
You watch him go, feeling a little better, given the night’s events. The door is almost closed when something occurs to you. You call out to Sammy quickly before he’s out of earshot. He pokes his head back in, eyebrows raised in question, concerned. You give him another cheeky smile in reassurance, “A tall glass of milk too, pleeeease?”

  
SLAM!


End file.
